


Life Happens

by Cdelphiki



Series: Exiled Robins [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Batfamily Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Dimension Travel, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Brother Tim Drake, Multiverse, Stranded in another universe, Time Travel, batfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-05-14 23:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 176,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: While walking home from an event at Wayne Enterprises, Tim and Damian are kidnapped and sent to an alternate dimension.  In a world where superheroes are merely comic book characters and the idea of the multiverse is only a theory found within the pages of science fiction, how are Tim and Damian going to return home?  How long will they be stranded on this strange Earth?  And will the boys murder each other before they figure it out?





	1. Zero Hour

Bring Damian home. That’s all Tim had to do. Bring the demon spawn to Wayne Manor and then he was free. It would have been a simple enough task, if Damian weren’t such a brat.

The kid insisted on fighting him every step of the way. They argued for ten minutes over who would drive, which was an argument that still made no sense to Tim. _’You’re ten,’_ he had said. Somehow, Damian hadn’t seen his point.

Now the kid was whining about having to walk four blocks to Tim’s car. “You couldn’t have parked any closer, Drake?," he ranted as he pointed out every empty spot they passed, "You are incompetent in even the most menial task of chauffeur."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out in a short huff. Two more blocks to walk and an hour of driving was all he had left. That's it. He could make it. “The garage was full due to the charity function,” he said through clenched teeth, “This was as close as I could get.”

“Well then, perhaps you should not have been late.”

“Shut up, Demon,” Tim snapped. One more block. One hour of driving. He could make it.

“Yeah, kid, shut up,” a voice from behind them said. Tim’s senses heightened as he whirled around to see a group of five men approach them from a side alley and encircle them.

Tim stepped forward, pulling Damian into his side. He could feel the boy’s eyes staring daggers at him for the patronizing act, but right now they were Tim and Damian. Not Robins, and it was expected of the older sibling to protect the younger one.

And, okay, maybe he didn’t want to see the kid get hurt, either.

His eyes darted around. The men were each holding onto guns hidden in their jackets. They didn’t look like the typical muggers, they were all too clean and well dressed. In fact, they looked like they had just come from the function at Wayne Tower, each man wearing a business suit. The obvious leader, the one who told Damian to shut up, smirked at Tim.

“Well, if it ain’t the Wayne boys.”

Tim pulled Damian closer when he heard the child growl. Someone needed to teach the brat when to shut up.

“Look, you can have my wallet, watch, bag, whatever. Just leave us alone,” Tim said, allowing a bit of fear to leak into his voice. He hated being trapped as Timothy Drake-Wayne in these sorts of situations.

“I don’t want your crap, kid, you are far more valuable to me,” the thug sneered.

A pit formed in Tim’s stomach. So, they were being kidnapped. Great.

“I’ll have you know there has never been a single successful kidnapping on any of us. You’re wasting your time,” Damian spat.

Tim elbowed him to get him to shut up. His attitude wouldn’t help. These thugs weren’t going to listen to a ten-year-old tell them off and suddenly see the light and change their ways. All Damian was doing was ensuring a good beating between now and when Batman rescued them. As amusing as it would be to see the brat get what’s coming to him, it was kind of his job right now to make sure the kid arrived home alive.

“I don’t want your daddy’s money,” the man paused and grinned, “I want him to suffer.”

He felt Damian stiffen from where he was pressed into Tim’s side as the pit in his stomach morphed into nausea. This was not good. They were probably going to have to fight their way out of this and possibly blow their secret identities.

Bruce was going to kill them.

“People like Wayne are what’s wrong with this world. He claims he loves Gotham, he’s from Gotham. Gotham, Gotham, Gotham, but he has never suffered Gotham the way the rest of us have. Gotham is a curse. She takes everything away from her people, forces them to live in poverty, in a life of crime.”

Damian slowly took Tim’s arm and wrapped his hands around Tim’s. It was a move that made him look like a scared little ten-year-old seeking comfort from an older brother, but Tim could feel the child slowly reach up and press the panic button on Tim’s watch. Now Bruce knew. Bruce knew they were in trouble and would send help. All they had to do was stall for time.

Tim squeezed Damian’s hand in acknowledgement, then said, “What do you mean? Bruce’s parents were killed when he was a child right in front of him.”

The thug scoffed, “Oh please. Like he actually cared. Most children who lose parents become poor orphans tossed into state custody. Brucie became one of the wealthiest children on the planet with a butler as his guardian. That was not suffering. For all I know he arranged for his parents’ deaths. It’s not like rich folks don’t kill their parents for the inheritance.”

Hot anger was all Tim felt for a second. Bruce still suffered from the trauma inflicted by his parents’ murder. It affected everything he did in life. Then on top of all that, he had lost Jason. Jason who was murdered by the Joker, a name synonymous with Gotham. Bruce had suffered as much as anyone, and more than most, at the hands of Gotham City, and yet he still loved the city and dedicated his life to saving it.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had to keep the guy talking. Switching to anger now would just speed up whatever plan the guy had, and right now they needed time for Batman to get there.

“I can see you disagree. It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re a spoiled brat, just like your father.”

Damian let go of Tim and stomped forward a few feet. “How dare you speak of my father this way,” he spat, clearly close to attacking the man with one of the dozens of knives he was sure to have on him at the moment.

Tim grabbed Damian’s shirt and pulled him backwards, just as the brat was about to take another step forward. He wrapped his arms around the child protectively and hissed, “stop,” into Damian’s ear. Surely Bruce was only a minute away. He had been in Wayne Tower, just a couple blocks down the road. How long could it take for him to switch into the cowl and get there?

The thug pulled a small box-like device from his pocket and started pressing buttons on it. “This has been entertaining, but we’re running short on time. I have no doubt you’ve called Batman already,” he said with a smirk.

Tim paled. Of course, the man knew the Wayne’s had some sort of connection to Batman. They were out of time. If he gave Damian a boost, the child could flip over the group and handle a couple of the men from behind. Hopefully the thugs weren’t as trained and quick as they were. Tim could then confront the other men and the leader. If nothing else, at least Damian could get a chance to run. Bruce would never recover if Damian died.

“Relax,” the thug said calmly, “I’m not going to kill you. That would be too merciful. Instead, you two are going to learn what it’s like to have nothing, and good ol’ Brucie will still suffer the loss of his two youngest sons.”

The man pointed the device at the boys, causing Tim to jump into action. He grabbed Damian and held his hands down as a springboard for the child to take. Damian understood in an instant, but before he could flip up and out of the circle, a bright blue light shot out from the device and engulfed them.

Blue turned to bright white and blinded Tim. All he could see was white.

The sounds of the city ceased and for a second and he heard a level of silence he had never experienced before. Then, all at once, the sounds of civilization came rushing back like a river down a hill, overwhelming him.

Birds chirping. A gentle breeze. The clinking of a flag on a pole. A car with a squealing tire passing by.

His back hit the ground in a harsh thud and the white enveloping him turned back to blue.

Bright, vibrant blue. And some white. Puffy white. Clouds.

He blinked in confusion. He was staring up at the sky. But… it had been night.

Tim sat up and looked around. He was not in Gotham. This was a residential area, almost like a suburb. But the suburb of a different town, a happier town.

Three feet to his left was Damian, unconscious.


	2. One Minute

“Demon,” Tim said as he poked Damian’s shoulder.

The child groaned and sat up. “Why did you stop me, Drake? I could have disarmed that goon with my eyes closed.”

Tim stood up and rolled his eyes. “Right and expose your identity before getting shot by the four others.”

“Tt. We wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“You would be dead,” Tim shot back. He looked around for a moment before pulling out his phone. With any luck they’d have signal and he could just call Bruce to pick them up. While his phone said it had bars, it wouldn’t connect to anything and said something about not having a subscription. “That’s odd,” he mumbled while he went through his settings.

“My phone is saying we are still in Gotham City, three blocks from Wayne Tower,” Damian announced, “so where are we really?”

“You have service?” Tim asked while he squinted at the map Damian was shoving in his face.

“No, but the GPS still works,” he replied.

Tim opened up the maps app on his phone and it, too, was reporting that they hadn’t moved from several minutes before, when they truly were standing a few blocks from Wayne Tower.

“So, then our phones must have been fried by that device,” Tim said. That, or they were in another universe, but he didn’t want to vocalize that option quite yet. He could deal with fried phones. Alternate dimensions? Not so much.

The boys were standing in the middle of a park, not far from a little picnic area. With a sigh, Tim walked over to a table and pulled his laptop out of his bag. Thank God those goons had turned down his offer of everything he had on him. He really wasn’t sure how he’d do this without a laptop.

After hooking his phone up to the computer, it only took a few minutes of coding to hack into the phone and trick the network into thinking Tim’s phone was on a paid account. It took rebooting the phone, but once it started back up, his phone was assigned a new number and had full access to the ‘AT&T’ network, whatever that was.

So, they were either in another country, or another dimension. Dread started to build within Tim. He really didn’t want to know the answer.

It only took another minute longer to learn that answer, however. Once his maps app updated, it was clear that they really were standing in the same spot. But instead of that spot being in Gotham City, New Jersey, it was now in Bridgeton, New Jersey. And Bridgeton was nowhere near the size of Gotham. It was more like a small town than anything.

“Great,” he grumbled as he opened an internet browser on his computer. Without a Gotham, there wouldn’t be a Batman. He was going to have to find a different hero to contact. Hopefully Clark still existed in this world. Or at least one of the Flashes.

All it took was googling ‘Clark Kent’ for Tim to be absolutely stunned.

“What is it, Drake?” Damian asked from where he was sitting across from Tim at the table.

In response, Tim just turned the laptop screen so Damian could see.

 _“Clark Joseph Kent is a fictional character appearing in American comic books published by DC Comics…”_ Damian read from the search results, “What? That makes no sense.” Damian began clicking on the results, so Tim relocated to sit next to the boy.

Sure enough, Clark Kent, or rather, Superman, was a fictional character. Everything about his life was online. There were a handful of live action TV shows and movies, half a dozen cartoons, and hundreds of comic books featuring the character. Tim felt sick. If Clark was fictional in this world…

He pulled the laptop toward him and typed into the search bar ‘Bruce Wayne,’ then hit enter. He already knew Bruce didn’t exist in this world, but was he also fictional?

Yes.

“What!” Damian shouted as he looked at the results. At least when googling Clark information about the alien’s secret identity appeared. For Bruce, however, google just translated the name to ‘Batman’ and showed everything about Batman. “Everyone knows who father is here.”

“ _Father_ ,” Tim mocked, “doesn’t exist here. He’s fictional.”

Damian scowled and changed the search terms to ‘Damian Wayne.’ “ _Damian Wayne is a fictional superhero and at times antihero-_ What!” he shouted, “I am not an antihero or a superhero! I’m a vigilante!”

Tim smiled deviously and pointed at one of the pictures, “Look, in this picture you look like you’re kissing a miniature Clark.”

The child growled in response, then grinned. “I don’t see your name anywhere on this page. It suggests I’m related to Grayson, Talia, and even Deathstroke, but it doesn’t suggest I google Tim Drake.”

After googling ‘Tim Drake’ Damian laughed. “You don’t even get your own page! It just suggests you read about Robin, which it clearly explains is the name for several ‘fictional superheroes.’ This is great, even this stupid world realizes you aren’t worth anyone’s time.”

“Okay,” Tim said, completely ignoring Damian’s comments, “We need to come up with a plan. The Justice League doesn’t exist, so we can’t just go to them and ask for assistance.”

“Father will have our Justice League come find us,” Damian said confidently.

Tim nodded. That was pretty much their only option at this point. Unless Tim could figure out the science of dimension travel, they would have to be rescued rather than sent back home, which meant settling down for at least the night. “Okay, so in the meantime, we need to figure out shelter for the night. How much money you got?”

Damian pulled out his wallet and proceeded to count out nearly six hundred dollars in mostly small bills.

“Why do you have that much cash on you? You’re ten.”

The child shrugged. “Father gives me twenties all the time for no reason and I never get an opportunity to spend them.”

“So start stuffing them into a piggy bank or something, don’t carry around that much cash.”

“Why are you complaining? This money will help us now.”

Tim sighed and pulled out his own wallet and presented the two hundred dollars he had. After checking google, they determined that their bills were identical to the currency of the strange universe and meant they could probably get by with using it. And if it were technically illegal, oh well.

“I think our best bet is to get to Philadelphia. It’s only about an hour away, and the larger the city we’re in, the easier it will be to just blend in,” Tim said as he packed his laptop back into his bag. He took the money and split it into bunches of $100, then scattered the wads throughout his bag and his and Damian’s wallet. He didn’t want anyone seeing how much cash they really had.

Damian scrunched his eyebrows and asked, “Shouldn’t we stay here so Father can find us?”

“It doesn’t matter where we are,” Tim said flippantly, “we both have our watches on, plus our phones. Bruce will be able to locate us. It’s not feasible to remain here, anyway. Not if we’re stranded for more than just a few hours.”

A small town would be pretty much impossible to hide in unnoticed. They'd have to move to a larger city if they had any hopes of blending in and getting by undetected. The fewer questions people ask about them, the better. Tim really didn't want to explain to the authorities why two kids were wandering around by themselves with no parents in sight. Even if Tim could pass for eighteen, he had no papers to prove it.

“We won’t be here long,” Damian said forcefully.

Tim frowned. “I hope not.”

\----

It took two hours to arrive in Philadelphia, between waiting for the bus and the traffic they encountered due to the 5 o’clock rush. Once there, the only hotel they could find that didn’t require guests to be 21-years-old to check in had an hourly rate. Neither Tim nor Damian had ever wanted in life. The fleabag motel was a bit below their standards, to put it nicely.

Opening the door to their room, Tim groaned. It smelled like old feet. “This isn’t gonna work,” he whined as he placed his bag down on the dresser and pulled out the laptop.

Damian glared at the bed, then scowled at Tim. “I will not sleep on that bed.”

“We need to go to Walmart anyway,” Tim sighed, “we can buy some fabric disinfectant.”

“Why do we need to go to Walmart?”

Tim sat at the desk and opened his laptop. “I need penicillin, and we both need clothes.”

“Why? We won’t be here long.”

“Damian, I’m not sleeping in these clothes, and I need to take antibiotics every day or I could get sick. So, unless you actually want me to die, we need to go to Walmart.”

“Tt. Fine. I could also use a toothbrush.”

Tim hummed in acknowledgement and turned his focus to his computer. The teen spent a few minutes learning how to hack into the Walmart Pharmacy. He found the name of a doctor used by a lot of the patients entered into the pharmacy’s system and created a new prescription for himself.

\----

Damian was uncharacteristically quiet their entire walk to the Walmart down the road. Tim would be worried if he weren’t so relieved to not have to deal with the child’s mouth for a little while. Tim intended to tell Bruce the second they got back to Gotham that he was never taking babysitting duty again.

Tim let Damian wander the aisles surrounding the pharmacy to collect all the hygiene item’s they’d need while he picked up his prescription. Thankfully, a bored pharmacist mixed with the fact that he was merely picking up antibiotics, and not a controlled substance, meant he didn’t even have to present an ID, just rattle off the date of birth he had entered into the computer.

It made him realize, however, if they were going to be in this world for more than a few days, he’d need a real ID. One that stated he was eighteen, not sixteen like he really was, and one that had a valid address on it.

He’d probably need to create a paper trail for Damian as well, and establish guardianship over the kid or something, otherwise he’d risk having the kid taken away by social services. While that would be far easier on Tim, Damian being carted off to a foster family, it wouldn’t be best for the boy. In fact, it would probably lead to several dead foster children and parents, Damian in juvie, and Tim eventually having to explain to Bruce why he turned his back on his ‘little brother.’

Yep. If there was no sign of rescue by tomorrow morning, he was going to start creating their identities. The sooner he did it, the better. Their money wouldn’t last more than a week, and he’d need an identity to get a job to earn more money.

“Drake,” Damian whined, snapping Tim out of his thoughts, “they don’t have my brand of conditioner.”

Tim blinked and looked at what the child had collected in the basket. There were at least ten bottles of random things, soap, shampoo, lotion… “Damian, we’re kind of short on cash. We really only need one bottle of cheap soap and one of shampoo.”

The child exaggerated a horrified expression before saying, “it’s bad enough you’re making me purchase items from _Walmart,_ but you also expect me to use the soap of peasants?”

“Okay, wow, that was rude,” Tim quipped as he started picking up the various bottles from the basket, “put these back.”

Damian huffed and deposited the lot of bottles on a random shelf.

“No, put them back where you found them, don’t be a dick to the stockers.”

“It’s literally their job to organize the shelves,” Damian replied with a roll of his eyes, “this is job security.”

Tim grabbed the bottles and shoved them back at Damian, “back where you found them,” he forced with a glare. While Damian begrudgingly did as he was told, Tim found the cheapest bottle of soap and shampoo he could, then picked up a couple of toothbrushes, toothpaste, and a comb for them to share. It certainly wasn’t the quality of things they were used to, but he was able to get all the necessities for both of them for under $10, so at least it was a win in some respect.

On the way to clothing, they passed a center display selling fleece blankets for $2.50 each, so Tim grabbed one and made Damian pick one out for himself. That would solve the dilemma of whether to use the gross motel’s bedding. Now Tim intended to just sleep on top of the covers with his own blanket, after thoroughly dousing said covers with fabric disinfectant.

It took Tim just a moment to grab a pair of jeans, a set of pajamas, and a few clearance t-shirts from the men’s section before shepherding Damian toward the children’s clothing.

“I am not a child, Drake, I refuse to purchase clothing from a children’s section.”

“Hate to break it to you, Demon, but all your clothing comes from children’s sections. You are just never present for the shopping.”

“All my clothes are custom tailored,” Damian scoffed as he made a face at a pair of jeans, “I refuse to wear clothing from this store.”

“Pick something out or I’ll pick it out for you, and my choices will consist entirely of Superman and Green Lantern merchandise.”

“We don’t even need clothing, we won’t be here long.”

“Just pick clothes out, you little brat,” Tim nearly shouted. At this point in their conversation, Tim would have normally walked away and forced Dick to deal with the twerp, but of course he’s stuck with the kid. Alone. “We have no idea when Bruce is going to find us, so let’s do as we were trained. Prepare for the worst, okay?”

Damian glared at Tim for a solid thirty seconds before storming away to look at clothes. It took him what felt like an eternity to pick out a handful of very basic articles of clothing. Everything was a solid color, no patterned or graphic tees made it into the cart, and every time Damian added something new, he made sure to make a scathing remark about how it was meant for “peasants” or “commoners” and was far beneath him.

Tim wasn’t really sure whether he believed in God, but at that moment he was praying Bruce showed up soon. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to handle Damian’s pretentious attitude. Suddenly what that thug had said clicked in his brain.

_’You two are going to learn what it’s like to have nothing.’_

This was that bastard’s plan all along. Knock him and Damian down a peg while making Bruce think they were dead.

Well shit.

Hopefully Bruce figured out what happened quickly and they didn't have to ‘learn the lesson’ or whatever the thug really wanted. Tim could go his whole life without knowing what it’s like to be poor. He’d be okay with that.

After grabbing a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, the only easy to make and eat food Tim could think of that didn’t require refrigeration or cooking, he and Damian paid for their items and walked back to the hotel. In the end, they spent just at $100 at the store, and made out with what they needed to survive. The food would last them a couple days, even if it got repetitive, and the clothes and essentials would last several weeks, given they paid a visit to a laundromat once or twice a week.

All-in-all, Tim thought they would survive. Even if Damian was being a contrary little bastard, he at least saw reason in the end. Tim just knew it was going to be a major fight tomorrow when he started crafting their aliases.

As soon as they got back, Tim soaked the bedding and carpet in the disinfectant they purchased while Damian did more research on their new world. The room took on a smell of heavy cleaners, which wasn’t much better to Tim’s nose, but at least it smelled like clean and not dirty hobo.

Tim settled down on the bed and started flipping through the TV channels when he heard Damian make a gagging noise.

“Don’t choke,” he said absently while reading news headlines that scrolled at the bottom of some talk show he had stumbled upon.

“Drake,” Damian said, his voice doing nothing to mask disgust, “there are thousands of stories written about our family on various websites dedicated to ‘fanfiction.’”

“Okay?”

“And a lot of them are suggesting that we are in romantic relationships with each other.”

Tim scrunched his nose up and looked over at the brat, “as in, you and me? Or just us Robins in general?”

“Both.”

“Do they know we’re legally brothers?”

“I haven’t read any of them!” the child squeaked, “and I don’t want to!”

“Oh god,” Damian said, his voice moving from disgusted to horrified.

“What?”

“Here’s one that pairs Grayson with Father.”

Tim burst out in laughter. “You know, tabloids have been saying shit like that ever since Bruce took in Dick. That’s nothing new.”

“The sooner we’re out of this world, the better,” Damian said, returning his attention to the laptop.

\---

That night, after they had both showered and prepared for bed, they slept next to each other on the full-size bed, neither of them wanting to risk sleeping with rats or something on the floor. Considering it had been nearing midnight when they left Gotham, and about 2pm in this world when they arrived, it had been an extremely long day for them both. It was strange to think that just that morning, Tim had gone to work like any other day. Even the charity event at WE felt like an eternity ago, not just eight hours previous.

As Tim drifted off to sleep, after triple checking that the door and windows were absolutely locked, he hoped that once morning came, they’d wake to find Bruce standing there, ready to lecture them on everything they’d done wrong in their encounter with the thugs. Hell, he’d take a verbal lashing if it meant not having to deal with this world anymore. But as he drifted, something deep inside him was whispering that he needed to prepare for a long stay.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow he needed to get started on building their lives here.

He wasn’t ready.


	3. Bruce

Charity functions were one of Bruce’s least favorite things. Having to mingle with people as Bruce Wayne all evening was exhausting. More exhausting than patrolling all night. It was ridiculous.

To make matters worse, this wasn’t a typical charity auction, either. It was one for the ‘working class’ of Gotham, targeted at the staff of Wayne Enterprises and other citizens like them in the city. It’s not that Bruce minded mingling with those outside his social class, honestly, that was not something that bothered him. He just didn’t know most of the people in attendance.

Which meant a lot of new faces. A lot of introductions, and a higher chance of unsavory characters sneaking in with all the unfamiliars.

That was why it was being held at WE instead of at Wayne Manor. While the Manor had the best security system in the world, it did not have a security team. Live, actual people monitoring and securing the area. WE did.

So, as it approached midnight, Bruce’s nerves were fraying. When Tim had objected to being asked to drive Damian home, he’d had no patience and snapped at the teen. Perhaps it was bad image to treat Tim as a defiant teenager at the very company the boy was CEO, but it had been a long day and Tim _was_ a defiant teenager sometimes. Besides, it only took an hour to get home and Damian was already exhausted. It was unlikely he had the energy to fight. Tim could manage the boy for an hour.

Bruce zoned back into the conversation he was having with Christine Nguyen, one of the budget analysts for the shipping division of the company. He almost felt bad for putting on the airhead show with her, or anyone in this building, really. They were mostly hardworking employees of his and his attitude gave off the air of ‘I don’t give a shit.’ Oh well. Batman was more important.

“Mr. Wayne,” she was saying, “This was just such a wonderful idea. We don’t do nearly enough company parties, and one that’s raising money for orphaned children in the city is just lovely.”

“Oh yes,” Bruce said flippantly, “and the open bar is a nice touch, if I do say so myself.” He rose his glass sloppily, spilling a bit of his drink.

The woman smiled tightly in response, laughing awkwardly.

“So, Sarah,” Bruce said to Christine, “What is it you do for the company?”

“Oh,” she flustered, “Uh it’s actually-”

She was interrupted by obnoxious beeping from Bruce’s coat pocket. Bruce bristled at the sound and vibration of his phone. He had the phone on silent, with one exception. The only thing that could set his phone off at the moment was the panic alarms from one of his boys. Which meant either Tim or Damian, since they were the only two currently wearing the watch-disguised panic buttons, were in trouble.

Based off the pattern of vibration, however, it was Tim. Just Tim. Not Red Robin, because had the teen pressed the button on his suit, it would have set off a different alarm on his phone.

Tim was in trouble. Damian, too, if the boy wasn’t the cause of the trouble.

“Excuse me, will you? I can’t ignore this call,” he said, not even waiting for the woman to acknowledge his request.

As he made his way out of the banquet hall where the event was being held and to the private quarters upstairs, he looked over everything he could involving the distress signal.

Tim was just a couple blocks away, standing right outside an alley. There was no text or missed calls from either boy, meaning that whatever it was most likely involved some third party, and was not a violent spat between Tim and Damian.

They could be going at it so violently, he supposed, that neither were able to call him, but he doubted that. Damian might have been that kind of child when he first moved to Gotham, but he had learned to control himself while out as Damian Wayne. They had finally gotten it through his thick skull the importance of secret identities, after all.

As he slipped down into the bunker, through the entrance in the penthouse, he worked it through. Both boys were in danger, but only Tim could press his distress button. That, or Damian and Tim were on the same page and both were aware the panic button had been pressed.

There was a third party involved. Possibly a mugger, although it was public knowledge that all of his boys knew basic self-defense. They could defend against a mugger. They were not helpless 8-year-olds leaving a theater in Crime Alley, after all.

It took seven minutes from the moment the distress call went out to when he arrived on scene, fully dressed as Batman.

Seven minutes.

Seven minutes and there was no sign of the boys.

Batman did not let his panic show. He had no panic. He was Batman.

The alley where the boys had been was completely deserted. There was no evidence of a tussle. No hint that anything unusual had happened.

Batman continued surveying the area as he pulled the tracking information for both Tim and Damian up. He had to pause when the program spat back ‘no information available.’

He had designed those trackers himself. They did not malfunction.

Grappling up to the roof, Bruce looked around the area. Tim’s car was still right where he’d parked it, four blocks from WE. The boys hadn’t even made it to the car. There was no suspicious looking persons lingering. Not on this side of town. Not while there was a large security force just a couple blocks over.

The boys’ trackers had been disabled somehow. Trying to track their phones yielded the same results. ‘No information available.’

Had they simply discarded the devices, Bruce would have found them. That meant whoever it was was aware of the watches and had somehow persuaded the boys to willingly disable them, or forced the issue.

Were these people aware of their identities? Or was it targeted at Bruce Wayne? Who had really been kidnapped here? The Robins or the two youngest Wayne children? The answer to those questions would determine his next step.

If this only involved civilian identities, Bruce would need to file a missing person report for both boys. Because they were both still minors, it wouldn’t be taken lightly. Well. Because they were minors _and_ Waynes, it wouldn’t be taken lightly. The GCPD would take the case.

But, if it involved their caped identities, reporting the possible kidnapping could be an issue.

Regardless, Bruce decided, Tim Drake-Wayne and Damian Wayne were the ones who were approached. Even if the Robins had been targeted, and not the Waynes, the assailants obviously knew who they were. Reporting this to the police wouldn’t out the boys. Not reporting this would just seem suspicious to the outside world.

Bruce decided to head back to the function and give it a little longer for him to begin creating the paper trail of him ‘discovering’ the boys were missing. He needed to try to call both boys, then call Alfred to ask if they’d made it home. Then he needed to go see if they’d even made it to the car. That was when he’d call the police.

In the meantime, though, Barbara could get working on sifting through security footage of the area.


	4. One Day

Tim woke with worry gnawing at his stomach. Something had startled him and now he couldn’t shut his brain off. He opened his eyes and looked at the too-bright clock on the end table. _2:33._ Tim rolled onto his back and put the pillow over his face in attempt to block out the world and quiet his thoughts.

It didn’t help.

He’d had insomnia long enough to know that he wasn’t getting back to sleep that night. He’d been awake 27 hours, and only managed to catch four hours of sleep before his brain decided it was time to be awake again. Sometimes, Tim hated his life.

Lifting his pillow slightly, Tim took a peek at Damian lying next to him. The child appeared to be asleep, but with as stiffly as he was lying, Tim wasn’t positive. The kid looked like a stereotypical corpse, honestly, with him lying on his back, his legs straight, and his hands folded across his stomach. How anyone could fall asleep like that, Tim had no idea. Then again, Damian was a demon, so maybe that’s how demons slept.

Suppressing a sigh, Tim slipped out of bed and stretched. If he was going to be awake, he could at least do something productive. Damian didn’t stir when he got up. With any luck, the brat would stay asleep and Tim could have a peaceful morning.

He decided to start with research. It was going to take a lot to build a life in this strange universe. Tim knew exactly what he would need to start over in his world, things like a birth certificate, social security number, government ID, but he wasn’t sure about this world. Not entirely. He assumed a lot was the same, but the only way to know was through research.

So, he spent a few hours learning everything he could about their new universe. Something Tim had noticed was that this new world was somehow brighter than his. The colors seemed more vibrant, and everything was more detailed. It was as if his world was trapped under some dark cloud, a thick fog, and this one wasn’t. It was actually, maybe a little refreshing. Tim might have been able to breathe easier in this world, if he hadn't had the fear of uncertainty about the future clawing at his psyche.

Maybe… maybe he could cure some of his anxiety by planning. That’s how he’d always dealt with his problems, through careful, meticulous planning. He could get himself and Damian set up in this world just fine given a day for work. Then, regardless of when Bruce found them, they’d be okay. They’d be set. If he showed up in eight hours, eight months, or eight years, they’d be okay. He’d make sure of it.

The first thing he had to do, however, was come up with a cover story. He and Damian were brothers, obviously. That would be the easiest story to use to keep the two of them together. They weren’t biologically related, though, and DNA couldn’t be faked. So, Tim would have to incorporate the whole he’s adopted thing into the story, so if for some reason someone runs their DNA against each other, he wouldn’t be stuck trying to explain why they're not related. That would be a disaster. He didn’t need to be accused of kidnapping Damian.

Tim opened up a word document and started typing out the cover story. He was the adopted son of Damian’s parents, obviously. The best lies were ones littered with truths, so he decided to stick with as close to the truth as possible. Their father had adopted three sons and had one biological son. The rest of the family had died in a car accident, leaving Tim and Damian alone.

He wasn’t sure what to do about the mom issue. Damian had a mother who had been in his life relatively recently. He spoke of her often enough that Tim figured she should probably be written into the cover story somehow. Perhaps she and Bruce could have been divorced, and she died about a year ago, and now Bruce and Dick and Jason died recently. Probably within the last week.

That could work.

The springs in the mattress squeaked as Damian shifted on the bed. Tim looked at the time, it was nearing 5.

“Drake,” the child mumbled from where he was now sitting, “what are you doing?”

“Research,” he responded, clicking save on his word document, “trying to figure out how best to blend into this world.”

“I want some orange juice.”

Tim blinked. That was the most random and childlike thing he’d ever heard come from the brat’s mouth. “And?”

“Pancakes and a fruit salad would be appreciated.”

Now Tim had to turn to stare at the child. “Seriously? We have peanut butter and bread. There’s water in the sink, and a coffee pot in the bathroom. Those are your options.”

“That is unacceptable. Let’s go out for breakfast.”

“No, ugh,” Tim said, rubbing at his face, “we can’t afford that. But, if we set up identities for ourselves, I can get us a credit card and that will raise our budget a bit for now. I’ll have to also get a job so I can pay it off in a month, if we’re still here.”

Damian scowled, “We will not be here in a month, Father might not care about you, but he would never abandon me like that. I am his son.”

“Or, I can dump you off at the nearest police station and be on my merry way. Bruce’ll find you.”

The child narrowed his eyes and stormed over to the desk. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, brat.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, Damian defiantly, and Tim authoritatively, daring the child to challenge his words. Eventually, Damian huffed and stomped to the bathroom, mumbling about needing a shower.

While Damian showered, Tim started crafting his identity, but quickly had to pause to think. He almost created himself a birth certificate in Cumberland County, NJ, then hit a snag. He couldn’t very well call himself Timothy Drake, or even Timothy Wayne. Using his real name would be too suspicious. Not because anyone would think ‘wow you’re from another universe, aren’t you, one where Batman is real?!’ but because having the same name as a comic book character with three brothers and a dad all sharing the names of said character’s family would practically scream ‘this identity is faked.’

They couldn’t use the last name Wayne.

While that didn’t bother Tim too much, he hadn’t had the last name all that long. Just over a year, really, Damian was attached to his last name. He practically worshiped his father and was immensely proud to bear the name ‘Wayne.’ Asking him to part with the name would be like asking him to cut off an arm. Actually, Damian might willingly part with an arm before he gave up his last name.

Tim would have to consult the demon before he could start on their aliases. Without a last name, he couldn’t do much. Before he could apply for anything, he needed a birth certificate and SSN.

Damian took an hour in the shower, but when he finally emerged, he seemed to be in a slightly less awful mood. Before he broached the subject, Tim decided to brew some coffee and fix a couple sandwiches for them to eat.

The coffee was awful. It was the cheapest crap he’d ever had the displeasure of tasting, but it was caffeine and helped ease the withdrawal headache he hadn’t notice starting.

Half way through his sandwich and third cup of coffee, Tim finally broke the silence. “So, we need aliases.”

“Fine,” Damian said flatly, not looking away from the news channel he’d been watching.

“We need to pick a new last name, and preferably one we can live with using for a while if necessary.”

“It won’t be necessary,” Damian snapped, “stop acting like we’re going to be here a while.”

Tim sighed. “Just humor me, okay? This is what I do, I plan for the worst, and right now that plan includes picking a new last name I don’t mind using for a while. Since you’re going to be my little brother in the paperwork, you’ll have to use the name, too, so I thought you could help pick it.”

“Whatever. Why can’t it just be Wayne? Not like Bruce Wayne exists here, anyway, to make the name famous.”

“It’ll be too suspicious. Even if he’s not real, everyone knows who Bruce Wayne is here. It’d be like us choosing Mickey Mouse as an alias. Obviously fake. If we pick the same name as a comic book character, people are going to remember our names and that won’t help us blend in. I still remember having a meeting with a man named Sam Alexander. I immediately associated him with the comic book character Nova and never forgot his name. Don’t remember why we were meeting, or even where he worked, but I remember his name. We can’t have that happen to us.”

Damian let out an annoyed breath, then said, “Fine, whatever. What did you have in mind?”

“How about Thomas?”

“Thomas?”

“Yeah, like Bruce’s dad’s name, Thomas? Damian Thomas. It sounds good, right?”

The child raised an eyebrow. “You really want to be Tim Thomas?”

Tim shrugged. “what’s wrong with it?”

“Alliteration.”

“Hey, lots of people have alliterated names. Clark Kent, Connor Kent, Lois Lane, J’onn J’onzz, Wally West, Lex Luthor, Billy Batson, Vicky Vale, Zatanna Za-“

“Okay, I get it,” Damian interrupted, “But it sounds stupid. Veto.”

Tim smiled. “Okay, what about Payne?”

“Why? Because it rhymes with Wayne? No.”

“Alright, what about Stark?” Tim offered.

Damian rolled his eyes. “As in Tony Stark? I thought you said we can’t have comic book names.”

“Tim and Damian Stark are not comic book characters, so it’s safe.”

“No. I don’t even like Iron Man.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you just said that. What about Parker?”

“No,” Damian said exhaustedly.

“Fine, you pick one.”

The child sat quietly for a moment while he seemed to give the issue some serious thought. “What about Waggoner or Wagner?”

“Hmm,” Tim said as he pondered the names, “so basically the German version of Wayne?”

Damian nodded.

Tim bobbed his head back and forth. He turned the names over in his mind, considering the options. “Damian Wagner. Timothy Wagner. Tim Wagner. Waggoner? Wagner. Hmm. You say it.”

“Damian Wagner, Timothy Wagner.”

“Timothy Drake Wagner,“ the teen said nodding, “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Why do you get to use Drake?” Damian asked in a voice so offended it was like Tim had murdered the kid’s mother or something.

“Do you promise to never call me ‘Drake’ again?” Tim asked. When Damian hesitated, he laughed bitterly and said, “Yeah, didn’t think so. If ‘Drake’ is my middle name, it is a reason why my little brother is calling me ‘Drake’ instead of ‘Tim.’”

“You’re overthinking this,” Damian scoffed as he got up to throw away the paper towel he was using as a plate, “We won’t need any of this.”

“Say that after I buy you a nice dinner tonight, yeah? Let me concentrate and I’ll have us new identities by noon.”

Damian, amazingly, did as requested, and spent the morning watching television while Tim worked on building their aliases. He hacked into the Social Security Administration, IRS, a handful of local and state governments, and countless other websites to do it, but as promised, by noon he had their identities built. He was Damian’s legal guardian, and there were death certificates for their entire family dated to a week prior to their arrival. If one were to google “Bruce Wagner,” or any of their names along with other key words to narrow down the search to Tim and Damian’s ‘dad,’ one would find a few local news articles and an obituary about a car crash that killed half a family and left behind two sons, 18-year-old Timothy Wagner and 10-year-old Damian Wagner.

Just in case they ran into anyone from Philadelphia, the Wagner family homeschooled, so no they wouldn’t have gone to school together. Damian didn’t even have to pretend such was the case. He really had been homeschooled his entire life, and Tim had dropped out of high school ridiculously early, so it wasn’t like he had a normal schooling experience anyway.

It was good. Perfect. While it wasn’t completely airtight, it was pretty damn close. It would take someone at the same hacking level as Tim to figure out their identities were fabricated, meaning they were never going to be caught.

He applied for a credit card and approved his own application, giving himself a $5,000 limit. The limit couldn’t be too high, so not to draw attention, but they needed to have some wiggle room on it. Using the new credit card number, he bought a P.O. box at the local post office and ordered passports, a driver’s license from the state of Pennsylvania, copies of birth certificates and social security cards, and his new credit card to be overnighted.

By tomorrow evening, he and Damian would be all set to start their life. With about $450 left, Tim decided they could splurge a little and eat both lunch and dinner out. The hot food was a welcomed break from peanut butter sandwiches or random pastries he had consumed the day previous at both work and the charity event. He really should make more of an effort to eat healthy. Dick was always nagging at him about living off coffee, but Dick ate Lucky Charms as a meal, so he wasn’t really one to talk.

Damian kept quiet most the day, only occasionally speaking up to remind Tim how much no one liked him. Tim had long ago learned to roll his eyes and ignore the child. As long as he wasn’t poisoning his food or pushing him off high places, he could handle the kid without losing his temper. Probably.

When they arrived back at the motel for the afternoon, Tim started looking for a job. That’s when he realized he had a major problem. In this world, he had no job experience and no high school diploma. He’d be lucky to be hired at McDonald’s with his track record, and while he didn’t want to admit to being a snob, he was a freakin’ CEO. Working the cash register at McDonald’s was not something he was willing to do. His time was worth way more than $7.50 an hour, or whatever minimum wage was. He wasn’t even sure.

Tim browsed the job listings in major cities and paid special attention to San Francisco. He loved California when he was living with the Titans. Going back now would be like a dream. His interest was piqued, however, when he ran across an announcement from a tech company based in New York City.

Roberson Industries was looking for a network specialist to help strengthen the company’s cyber security and lead the department basically responsible for making sure the company didn’t become the next in the line of hacking scandals. That was something Tim could do. An idea formed in his mind while he was reading through the announcement for a second time and he decided to apply for the job in an unconventional way.

“Hey kid, can you mute the TV and play on your phone or something. I need to record a video for a job application and I don’t want any background noise,” Tim asked in as nice of a voice as he could muster when dealing with Damian.

“Do not call me ‘kid,’” he snapped, “I am not a child. And why are you applying for a job? I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, we will not be here that long.”

“Just do it, okay? I’ll let you play on my computer for the rest of the day when I’m done.”

“Tt. Fine,” he said as he shoved headphones into his ears, “of all the people I could get stuck with,” Tim heard the child mumble.

Tim put on the collared shirt he had been wearing the day before and combed his hair to look professional, then sat down in front of his computer once more. He opened up the webcam app on his laptop and set it to record, then started a timer on his phone.

As soon as he pressed start on the timer, he began to work at hacking into Roberson Industries. Once he was in, completely in, he pressed pause on the timer and smiled.

“Good day, Mr. Roberson and Mr. Blackwell,” he said, putting on his charming WE CEO façade, “My name is Timothy Wagner and I would like to apply for the position of Head of Cyber Security. I’m sure you’re staring at your screen right now wondering why on earth you’d hire some punk 18-year-old for such a position, so I figured this was the best way to capture your attention and introduce myself.”

“As the saying goes ‘it takes a thief to catch a thief,’ and I, sirs, am a hacker. You see, it took me three minutes and nineteen seconds to break through your firewalls and into your company’s servers,” Tim held up his cell phone so the camera could see the stopped timer, “From Philadelphia, mind you. I hacked you remotely. Honestly, your company is in dire need of some serious security upgrades."

“On your desktops you will find a new folder labeled “Timothy Drake Wagner” where I’ll drop a report on my findings in your system, as well as my contact information. Don’t worry, I will not do anything devious to your company, even if you choose not to hire me, but if I’m honest, you are in desperate need of my help. I have already patched up a few major security flaws. For instance, your company’s PII wasn’t even encrypted on the servers. In that report I will explain how I got into the system and what flaws I have already fixed. Feel free to have your IT team verify my findings. If you would like additional help from me overhauling your security, you have my contact information. I am willing and able to move to New York City for the job. Thanks for your time and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day.”

Tim smiled one last time before shutting off the camera to type up his report. Years of practice writing reports meant it only took him an hour to pound out a fifteen-page report on Roberson Industries, and just after 5pm, he dropped the folder of stuff on the desktop of the company’s CEO, David Roberson, and the Head of IT, Paul Blackwell.

“I thought you didn’t want us to draw attention to ourselves,” Damian finally said as Tim was offering him the laptop, as promised.

“What? I don’t?” Tim said, honestly confused, “What do you mean?”

“Hacking some company like that is drawing attention to yourself,” the boy replied dryly as he accepted the computer.

“It was necessary. Unless you want me to go grab a job making burritos at Taco Bell. I’m sure we can get by just fine on a fast food paycheck.”

“You don’t even need a job, I don’t know why you’re wasting our time with all this nonsense.”

“And what if we are stuck here, huh? What if Bruce has no idea where we are? Or they can’t figure out how to connect to this universe? What if we’re trapped here for months, Damian? _Years?_ Do you really think it would help us to drag our feet until we run out of money? We have nothing here. No rich parents, no powerful connections, no trust funds. Nothing. I’m trying to fix that now, before it becomes a problem, stop being a brat about it.”

“Father will find us,” Damian shouted, “I’m his son, he-”

“Shut up,” Tim growled, “I’m his son, too, but that doesn’t change the fact that he might have no clue where we are. He might think we’re dead! Did you ever consider that? He might not even be looking for us at all, because he assumes we were vaporized or something. Remember when he was lost in time and no one was looking for him because they just assumed he was dead? What if he never finds us? What if this is forever?”

“It’s not!” he screamed.

“But it could be, so we should at least establish a life here. If he shows up tomorrow or in a week, or a year, great. We just walk right on through the portal and back home, no skin off my back walking away from the temporary life I’ve built. But if this is permanent. If we live the rest of our lives in this universe, at least we’ll have a life. I’m not going to lie around hanging onto the hope Bruce will save us, because we don’t actually know if he will.”

“This is why no one trusts you,” Damian snarled, “you turn your back on everyone.” The kid’s voice cracked with the last word, and Tim saw tears well up in his eyes. Before he broke out crying, however, Damian ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Tim collapsed on the bed. Damian was ten. Ten. He just told a ten year old, a child who worshiped his father, that his dad possibly wasn’t coming and he might never see him again. While yelling.

God. He was a terrible person. Why did Bruce make him drive Damian home? Why couldn’t they have just stayed in the penthouse last night? Or waited for Alfred to drive them back? Or just stayed until Bruce left? He was the worst possible person to be left in charge of Damian.

Shit.

He was in charge of Damian.

He was going to have to _raise_ Damian.

He-

Tim let out a sob and covered his face with his hands. He was not cut out for this. He desperately wanted Bruce to show up soon.

"I-I can't do this," he cried to himself, "I can't."


	5. Five Days

Monday found Tim and Damian taking the train to New York City. Mr. Blackwell had been impressed by Tim’s ‘audacity,’ apparently, and called Friday afternoon. Not before he had his team look for evidence they had been hacked, of course. Other than obvious security upgrades, there had been no trace. _’I want to see you use your powers for good, so you’re hired.’_ his new boss had said.

Tim was excited. He had been working as the CEO for Wayne Enterprises for the last year, and while he certainly had fun in the role, it was so much work. Tedious, exhausting work. Spending some time playing hacker and strengthening a company’s cyber security was going to be fun. Relaxing. And they were going to pay him for it. Six figures.

He was used to being rich, used to making good money, but before he had always gotten everything because of his name. Sure, he had to prove himself to Wayne Enterprise’s Board due to his age, but he would have never been given the chance in the first place if his last name weren’t “Wayne.” And yeah, he impressed Bruce with his mind and talents to gain the “Wayne” name in the first place, but before he was a Wayne, he was a Drake. Tim had never not had a powerful name.

Now… Now he was Tim Wagner, some orphaned teenager from Philadelphia who impressed the CEO and head of IT of a major corporation in Manhattan so much they’d hired him without so much as a second thought or reference check. It felt good.

Damian was… well, Damian. He was less than thrilled but had agreed to move to NYC if it meant staying in nicer accommodations. Mr. Blackwell reserved them a suite at the Conrad in Manhattan, near where the RI building was, and said they could stay as long as it took to find an apartment. Tim was looking forward to sleeping in a clean bed that smelled like laundry, not disinfectant masked hobo.

The first thing they did upon arriving in the city was check in at the hotel. Since it was an expensive five-star, it didn’t have a rule about having to be 21 to check in, so the receptionist didn’t even blink an eye at Tim when she handed him the key to their room.

It was beautiful. Tim wanted to cry when he opened the door to room 412 and immediately smelled fresh sheets. He dropped his bags on the ground and collapsed face first on the nearest bed. “I’m never getting up,” he groaned happily.

Damian rolled his eyes and placed the new backpack they bought on the desk before saying, “Great. You die there, I’m going to take a shower and wash the smell of Amtrak off me.”

Tim dozed while Damian did just that, then took a shower himself after the kid was done. It did sound nice, after all, feeling clean after riding on a filthy train. It was 4pm by the time he finished and Tim wasn’t sure what to do with the rest of the day. Mr. Blackwell had told him to get settled in the city Monday and go into the office first thing Tuesday, so they had the rest of the day free.

He wandered over to the window to look out at the view of the city. The view wasn’t all that great, but it kind of reminded him of Gotham, only cleaner. He felt less anxious, staring out at the cityscape. This was definitely better than Philadelphia.

“So, what do you want to do?” he asked Damian while watching cars pass by beneath them.

“Go home,” Damian said dully from where he was lying on the bed.

“Okay, what’s another thing you want to do?”

When Damian only groaned in response, Tim kept talking, “We can go find dinner. Explore the area a bit. Walk along the river. Go shopping. Or we can order in and watch a movie. Really, whatever you feel like doing.”

“I’d rather just stay here. You can go get us some dinner.”

Tim turned to face Damian and asked, “You okay by yourself?”

“I am not a child,” the kid snapped, glaring daggers back at Tim, “and I am perfectly capable of handling myself. I want Chinese. Vegetarian.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tim said with a frown as he collected his shoes and sat on his bed to put them on, “Anything else?”

“Yeah, some peace. Can’t have that if you’re still here.”

Tim sighed and made his way out of the hotel and onto the street below. For the first time since they arrived in this world, he and Damian weren’t together. It was actually nice to get a break from the kid, even if it made him a little nervous leaving a 10-year-old by himself in a strange city. He probably should have told the boy not to leave the room or something, set down ground rules, but knowing Damian he’d do the exact opposite of what Tim said just to spite him.

Tim had no idea what to do with Damian. The two of them had never gotten along before, now he felt kind of obligated to be nice to the brat.

Using google maps, Tim found a Chinese takeout place with decent reviews and called in an order for ‘enough food for two, vegetarian, under $20, please.’

About a block from the take-out place, a small storefront caught his attention. In the window were all sorts of art supplies and a big sign that read “Summer Sale.” Before Tim even registered he was doing it, he opened the door to the store and walked in. His eyes were drawn immediately to the display of sketchbooks.

Damian was always drawing at home, Tim couldn’t think of a single time the child hadn’t had his sketchbook with him while in the Manor. Of course, that sketchbook was still safely sitting at the Manor, and was not here with them.

In fact, Damian had brought almost nothing with him from Gotham. Just the clothes on his back, his phone, earbuds, and wallet. At least Tim had his bag from work. The paperwork was all useless, of course, but he had his laptop. His prized possession. His hobby. Damian had nothing, unless one counted the music on his phone as a hobby. Which Tim didn’t.

“What brings you in here today?” the lady behind the counter asked. Tim must have looked lost. He kind of was.

“Uh, my brother,” he replied while he scanned the contents of the store, “He’s like an artist or something, but I have no idea what to get him.”

The woman walked around the counter and stood next to Tim. “What kind of art does he do?”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. He honestly had no idea. “I know he sketches. He needs a new sketchbook for sure, and then pencils, I guess?”

‘Clara,’ the girl’s nametag read, smiled and walked to a display of pencils. “Colored pencils or graphite?”

“Let’s do both.”

With Clara’s help, Tim picked out two sets of pencils and a new sketchbook for Damian. The box of colored pencils he had wanted to get, which had nearly 200 colors, was far beyond what he could afford, so in the end he picked out a set of 12 colored pencils. If Damian really liked the pencils, Tim could always save up to purchase him a better set. It ended up costing nearly $50 for just what Tim picked out, but Clara assured him they were good quality and Tim was getting a deal.

The Chinese place ended up fixing them sweet and sour tofu, a veggie stir fry, sticky rice, and spring rolls. Tim wasn’t a huge fan of tofu, but he’d eat whatever the brat didn’t want. Once they had an apartment he’d have to learn how to cook. His six figures would make sure they lived comfortably, but they wouldn’t be able to afford eating out all the time. It cost a lot to live in Manhattan.

Based on what research he’d already done, he knew half his take-home pay was going to rent alone. They’d still have utilities, transportation, and food to worry about. And insurance, probably. That was something adults needed, right? Tim was really missing Alfred taking care of all that for him.

School cost money, too, didn’t it? And that’s something kids were supposed to do. It was unlikely he’d be able to afford a private school for Damian and homeschooling him was a stupid idea. The kid needed to get out and have contact with non-Tim people.

Tim was hoping they’d get to leave before having to worry about it, but school started the second week of September, and it was already the 13th of August. He should probably get Damian registered soon, just in case. What grade would the kid even be in? 5th grade? Wow. He was still in elementary school. That was a fight Tim would put off until the last possible minute.

Back in the hotel room, Damian was right where Tim left him, lying on a bed staring at the ceiling. “Hey brat, soups on,” he said while pulling the cartons of food from the plastic bag.

The kid just cut his eyes over to glare at Tim.

“Right. What do you want? Stir fry veggies or sweet and sour tofu? Or both? We can always split them.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Are there mushrooms in the stir fry?”

“Yeah, probably,” he said while opening the box, “Yes. It’s mostly mushrooms and broccoli.”

“Then I will eat that.”

Tim suppressed a sigh and gave the kid his box with some of the rice and spring rolls, then sat down to eat the tofu. After a few bites, he decided he was absolutely right. Tofu sucked. He should have just ordered himself some chicken something or another and not given the demon a choice. He took another bite. The things he did for this brat…

They ate in relative silence while watching some hideous cartoon with bright yellow people. When they were finished, Tim collected up all the trash and packed it back into the plastic bag to throw out. While straightening up, he moved Damian’s art supplies and suddenly remembered he had bought them.

Damian seemed to notice the second bag at the same time and asked, “What’s that?”

With a shrug, Tim handed the bag to Damian. “It’s yours.”

“You bought me something?” the kid asked, his face scrunched into a half confused half offended expression.

Tim rolled his eyes and went to throw the trash out in the bathroom’s trashcan and wash his hands. While he couldn’t see any, he felt as though he had sweet and sour sauce all over his hands. When he came back out, he found Damian sitting still on his bed, holding the sketchbook and pencil gingerly, with a blank look on his face.

“Uh, Damian? You okay?”

That seemed to snap Damian out of it because he scowled at Tim. “Yes, Drake, I’m fine.”

“Look, if you don’t like it or whatever we can return it and-“

“No,” Damian said quickly, “It’s fine. Good. How did you know what brand of pencils I use?”

“I didn’t. The lady at the store told me that was the best she carried so I bought what we could afford. If you want, we can save up and buy you the set with all the colors?”

Damian nodded, still staring down at the art supplies and not up at Tim. “That’s what I have at home. It’s a nice set.”

Tim fiddled with his watch. “Cool,” he eventually said, nodding. And with that, the conversation was over. Damian grabbed a blanket and nestled himself into one of the barrel chairs facing the windows and started drawing, completely ignoring Tim.

So, Tim decided to pull out his laptop and start doing serious research on apartments. Settling back against the amazingly comfortable pillows on his bed, he opened the lid and started looking at prices. He considered living in one of the surrounding boroughs and commuting in for work, but in the end decided he’d rather keep them in Manhattan. That way he and Damian would never be all that far apart, so when Bruce finally showed he wouldn’t have to travel an hour to get to Damian.

He also hated spending so much of his day commuting, so the less of that he had to do the better. The more he could do to make the entire situation relaxing and vacation-like the better, for the sake of his sanity.

After comparing the cost of mortgage payments and rent payments, he decided to just hack a bank and approve himself for a loan with a decent interest rate. It ended up saving them a bit of money and being a much easier process than applying for various apartments. So many of them required references, a background check, and proof of income, and Tim just wasn’t up to doing the paperwork.

He emailed a real estate agent with proof of loan approval and a list of apartments he liked and called it done. He and Damian could go see apartments sometime in the next couple days and hopefully just ‘buy’ one. He kind of felt bad buying an apartment without knowing how long they’d be there, but in the end it didn’t matter. It was NYC. The bank would have no problem selling the apartment again if they defaulted on the mortgage by leaving this reality.

Damian ended up nodding off in the chair he was still perched in somewhere around 10pm, and Tim decided to just leave him there. So far they hadn’t had a major fight that day, and Tim wanted to leave it that way. He cut off all the lights in the room and went to bed himself.

For the first time since they arrived, he actually slept well. His nerves were starting to calm, now that he had a solid plan working out.

\-----

When his alarm went off at 6am, Tim did not want to get up.

“Drake, get your lazy ass up and turn that off,” Damian grumbled. He sounded just as tired as Tim felt.

“Ugh,” Tim groaned, rubbing his face, “it should be illegal to wake up this early.”

Tim showered and dressed in the suit he had worn to the charity event. He had had it dry cleaned a couple days before in anticipation for work. He needed to buy more professional clothes, for sure, but he wanted to see what everyone else at work was wearing first. He was used to dressing like a CEO. That might not be what’s expected of him now.

“Want to come with me to breakfast? I think there’s a free menu,” Tim asked while he buttoned his cuffs. Should he wear a tie? Probably. He’d put it on after breakfast. Even though Alfred would have been upset, Tim was glad he had shoved his coat and tie in his bag that night.

“I guess,” Damian sighed. The kid got out of bed and brushed his teeth, then came to stand next to Tim.

“Are you gonna get dressed?”

“Why? What’s the point? None of my clothes are presentable.”

Tim rolled his eyes and finished packing his bag for work, making sure he had his identification papers for whatever onboarding paperwork he needed to do. “Fine. Whatever, you’re 10, you’ll get away with it. Everyone will think you’re cute.”

Damian growled, which made Tim only laugh harder when the waitress downstairs did, in fact, call Damian cute.

“So, what are you going to do all day?” Tim asked half way through breakfast. He had ordered some scrambled egg plate that had tomatoes and various leaves mixed in. It wasn’t half bad, especially not for being on the free menu.

“I have not decided,” Damian replied between bites of oatmeal.

“I’d prefer if you ordered lunch in or something, instead of going out for it.”

“You can’t keep me prisoner in the hotel room.”

Tim sighed. “I’m not trying to, I’m just nervous. It’s a new city in a strange world, and I’d rather you not wander around by yourself. Not yet, not until we’re more familiar with it.”

“That’s not fair,” Damian pouted, “Why can you explore on your own but I can’t?”

“You’re 10,” Tim said simply. Honestly, the sooner the kid understood that fact, the better.

“And you’re 16, what’s your point?”

“Remember, Damian, I’m 18. Just...” Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “just text me if you leave the room, okay? And every ten minutes until you get back.”

Damian’s face scrunched into a scowl, “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, and no Robin-ing either.”

Now the child slammed his fork down on the table, causing their plates to clank against the table. Tim could feel eyes of other patrons on him, curious about the outburst. “I am not an idiot. I do not have my uniform and it’s daytime. More importantly, _you are not the boss of me._ ”

Tim considered all his options. He could murder the child. Drag him back to the room and lock him in the closet. Scream at him. Continue arguing. Point out that he was, in fact, the ‘boss of him.” In the end, he decided to do what he always did when it came to Damian. Walk away.

Mustering as much strength as he could to keep his voice devoid of all emotion, he asked, “Do you have your room key on you?”

“Tt. Of course I do.”

“Good. Text me if you leave the hotel,” he said curtly while he pulled a few dollars out of his wallet to toss on the table for a tip. He grabbed his coffee and left the restaurant, leaving Damian there to finish breakfast alone.

Before he left the hotel, he paused to put his tie and coat on and nearly turned around to apologize to Damian. He wasn’t even sure why he felt bad, but he did. He felt sick to his stomach for just abandoning the kid while he was angry. A treacherous voice in him was saying they should talk it out. It sounded vaguely like Dick’s voice. He’d worry about being a horrible ‘brother’ later.

Pushing it all out of his head, Tim started his walk to the Roberson Industries building. It was only four blocks from the hotel, so he didn’t have long to compose himself. Good thing he had had a lifetime of practice controlling his facial expressions and emotions to appear happy regardless of what he was really feeling.

The secretary kindly directed Tim to the 30th floor where Paul Blackwell’s office was located. Stepping out of the elevator, Tim was reminded of many of WE’s floors. The ones with ‘bull pen’ style office spaces surrounded by offices with glass walls. The biggest one, right in the center of the far wall likely belonged to Mr. Blackwell, so Tim walked toward it.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked from Tim’s left. Turning, he saw a young woman, probably around 25, sitting at a desk. She was looking at Tim like she was wondering what a kid was doing dressed in a suit up on this floor.

“Yeah, I’m looking for Paul Blackwell. I’m Tim Wagner.” He stumbled over his name, which hopefully came out sounding nervous and not like Tim was still learning an alias.

“Seriously? How old are you?” the girl blurted out as she stood to shake Tim’s hand. She seemed to realize what she said because she turned pale, “Oh my god, that was so rude. I’m sorry, sir.”

Tim laughed and shook her hand. He was used to being judged for his age, of course. It was nothing new. “Don’t worry about it. I’m 18. I didn’t catch your name.”

The girl flushed. “It’s Tiffany. Tiffany Wyatt, sir.”

“It’s nice to meet you Ms. Wyatt. I look forward to working here. Can you direct me to Mr. Blackwell’s office?”

“Oh, please just call me Tiffany. Paul’s office is that one,” she said, pointing at the office Tim had already singled out as his new boss’s, "is that a Zenga you're wearing?"

Tim stuttered as he looked down at his suit.  He had completely forgotten his suit cost at least 5 grand.  "Uh, no of course not.  It's just," he smiled, feigning embarrassment, ”a really good knockoff my dad bought me."  It wasn't entirely false.  It wasn't a _this_ world's designer suit, and Bruce did technically buy him the suit.  "Thanks for your help," he told her after she complimented how 'good' a knockoff it was.  Tim realized he probably shouldn't wear his suit again, not if he was trying to blend in.  That meant he'd need to buy more clothes.  

“Tim!” Mr. Blackwell shouted as the teen approached, “come in.”

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwell,” Tim said as he shook the man’s hand.

“Nope. None of that, It’s Paul. I’m so glad to be meeting the master hacker himself. You have been quite the talk of RI this past week, let me tell you. I look forward to you using your superpowers in person.”

Tim grinned, “I wouldn’t call them superpowers, sir, but I’m very happy to be working in this field.”

Most the day was spent acquainting Tim to the RI building. He was given a full tour of most floors that were at all relevant and shown where his office was. It was a lot smaller than he was used to, but it was strangely comfortable. He could see himself spending a lot of time in there and not grow to hate its walls.

He knew right away he was going to like Paul. The man seemed genuine and didn’t treat Tim like a teenager. That was rare for business men, Tim usually had to fight to earn the respect of adults over 40, but Paul spoke to Tim just like he spoke to any other employee, and that was kindly and like they were equals. Perhaps it had to do with Tim pretending to be 18, but he guessed that was just how Paul was.

Around three, Tim was finally allowed to set up his office and get everything settled in. He really didn’t have much to do, since he had no personal effects to put away, so he mostly just arranged the desk how he wanted it and set up his computer. He was checking his phone for a text from Damian when Paul walked in.

“What’s with the frown?” the man asked as he took one of the chairs across from Tim.

Tim clicked off the phone and set it down, “It’s nothing. I was expecting a text from someone but…” he shrugged.

“I’m gonna be upfront here, Tim,” Paul said as he leaned forward onto the desk.

Tim raised an eyebrow. The man’s tone had shifted to serious, and a tiny part of Tim was suddenly nervous for whatever Paul was going to say.

When Paul said, “I googled you,” Tim laughed.

“It’s bad practice not to google perspective employees.”

“I suppose so,” Paul said with a smile, “but I learned a lot about you I feel I had no right to know. But now I do, so there’s no use in pretending I don’t.”

Tim averted his eyes and said “Oh?”

“Yeah, I know you’ve got a little brother you’re looking out for. Where is he right now?”

“At the hotel,” Tim sighed, “I think. That’s where I told him to stay.” He clicked his phone back on to check his texts again. When he saw nothing, he decided to just track the damn kid’s phone.

“If you need to call him to check on him, feel free. If you ever need to leave work to deal with him, don’t feel bad for doing so. More than half our employees have children, and family comes first, okay? We understand. You can always bring him to work with you, too, if you have no other options. Most people love having a kid around.”

Tim nodded as the trace on the kid’s phone loaded. Amazingly, it showed Damian as being in the hotel. He turned the screen toward Paul and said, “Thanks. He’s at the hotel though. Unless he left his phone there, which I doubt. That kid is almost never not using his phone.”

Paul smiled and the subject shifted to apartment hunting. He gave Tim advice on where to buy to be zoned for the best schools. Tim hadn’t even considered school zoning. He’d always been educated at private schools, so school zones meant nothing to him growing up. He made a mental note to revise his list of apartments that night.

\----

After work, Tim found Damian curled up on the floor with his head pressed into the window. Based off the sketchbook with a half-finished drawing of New York’s skyline, Tim assumed the kid had been there to draw, but now he was… well Tim wasn’t sure what he was doing.

“Hey, kid,” Tim said as he shut the door behind him.

When Damian didn’t even argue against the moniker ‘kid,’ Tim started to get worried.

“What’d you do for lunch?”

Damian turned to glare at Tim for a second before turning his attention back to the city.

“Okay,” Tim said as he walked over to where the kid was sitting, “What do you want for dinner?”

“Leave me alone, Drake,” Damian muttered.

Frowning, Tim sat on the ground in front of the brat and picked up his sketchbook. There were already half a dozen pages filled with extremely detailed sketches. A couple were of the view from the hotel room, but the others were of things back home. Tim was admiring a graphite sketch of Titus when Damian snatched the book away.

“Don’t touch my stuff,” Damian hissed as he got up and angrily flung himself on his bed.

“Sorry, I was just looking. I like your art.”

“Shut up, Drake. You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me.”

“I’m not pretending!” he exasperated, “look, what do you want for dinner? I’m starving and have a lot of work to do tonight, so I’d like to order it now.”

“I don’t care,” he spat.

“Fine,” he said as he retrieved his laptop and sat down at the desk, “I’m ordering a meat lovers pizza.”

“I won’t eat it.”

“Good. Starve.”

In the end, Tim ordered a veggie pizza from some local join a couple blocks over. No meat anywhere on it.

He and Damian ate it in silence. In fact, Damian didn’t speak another word to him the rest of the day. Tim ended up researching apartments and setting up a showing with an agent for the following evening, using the advice on school zones Paul had given him. With any luck, they’d be in their own place in a week.

It was exciting. Everything was moving extremely fast, but that was okay. He hated to feel temporary, even if he was. Any bit of unease he still felt he knew would melt away as soon as they had a place to call their own. He just hoped Damian would chill out, too.


	6. Barbara

Barbara had access to every security camera in Gotham. Every single camera that was in any way hooked up to a remotely hackable system, Barbara could get at.

Why the hell were there no cameras pointing at the spot where Tim and Damian had gone missing?

She’d scoured all the footage of every camera in the area and couldn’t find a single lead. There were no patterns. No out-of-place people. No strange vehicles. Just a lot of attendees of the charity function.

She watched for the 27th time as Tim and Damian walked out of Wayne Enterprises. Right out the front door, to the left, and down a couple blocks. Tim was holding tight to the strap on his bag, an annoyed scowl on his face while he clearly tried to keep his temper in check. Damian was chattering away, as he always did, his pretentious little attitude smugly present on his face.

Tim starts to argue back to the little Robin, they walk off screen, and then... nothing.

Nothing.

Every camera in a five block radius goes offline at that exact second.

How the hell could two of the richest kids on the face of the planet just disappear without a trace? Two of the best trained vigilantes?

How could anyone wipe so many cameras all at once, starting at the exact same second?

It made no sense.

 _”Oracle,”_ her feed with Batman crackled into life, _”Tell me you’ve found something._ ”

“Still searching,” she responded, pressing replay on the stitched together video she’d created of the boys last known moments, “but whatever happened seems to have happened out of range of any known camera, and every camera has been wiped after the incident. No trace of the wipe, either. It’s as if every one malfunctioned at the same time.”

 _“I’ll go back to the site and see if I can find anything I missed earlier.”_  

Barbara pressed replay for the 29th time.

\----

“Bruce,” Dick demanded as soon as he hopped off the motorcycle he’d recklessly sped into the Batcave.

“Dick,” the man replied from behind Barbara, where he’d only just a moment before taken residence. She didn’t look back to acknowledge either man, just continued pulling the video feed for Bruce, and now Dick, to see.

“Tell me you have a lead,” he said, anger evident in his voice, “and that’s why you didn’t call. My two little brothers go missing and I learn about it from twitter.”

“Working on it,” Bruce said tersely.

“And?” the younger vigilante demanded, “Was it at least their civilian identities, and that’s why you went to the police? Has there been a ransom demand?”

Batman seemed to ignore Dick, much to the clear displeasure of the younger man. “Stop it there,” Bruce said, pointing at one of the screens, “Where did that man go? He walked into the blank zone, but never came out.”

Barbara’s eyes went wide with realization. “You’re right. I can’t believe I missed that.” The man in question was dressed nicely and had disappeared into the dead zone about half an hour before the boys went missing.  How had she not noticed?  Perhaps because he looked just like every other person walking away from Wayne Enterprises.  There was nothing suspicious or out of place about him at all.  

Narrowing her eyes at the screen, Babs added, “There’s no way one man took down Tim and Damian, though. There has to be more of them.”

With a few quick commands, she ran a facial recognition on the man and started searching for more persons entering their dead zone. By the time her search was complete, she’d found five men who entered the area within an hour of the kidnapping and never came out.

“Okay, each of these men attended the charity function. Here are the names they used,” she said, pointing at a list she’d typed up on a side monitor, “preliminary searches point to these being aliases.”

“So, five men who used fake names to get into the function,” Dick mused, “do any of the cameras outside the wiped zone pick them up after the boys went missing?”

“No,” Babs said, frustrated. She’d already set the cameras to search for the men, and so far, nothing had come up. She’d need to cast a wider net. Maybe she could catch one at someplace mundane. Walmart. A gas station. Anywhere an average Gotham citizen would be found, buying groceries or a pack of cigarettes. Someplace they’d used a credit card so she could pull their real identities.

If she could find one of them, she could at least give Batman a place to start.

“Hey, there’s a little comic book store here, isn’t there?” Dick said, pointing at the building on the east side of the alley.

“Yes,” Bruce said, “and on the other side is flower shop.”

“Okay, but I was in that store a few months ago. I noticed they had a couple really old surveillance cameras. The kind that record straight to VHS tapes.”

Barbara immediately got to work trying to get a way into the store’s network, to see if they had digitized any of their surveillance.  If they had it, she could find it.

“Do you remember which way the cameras face?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Dick said, nodding excitedly, “The one facing the front door would have been looking right out at the entrance of the alley.”

Bruce pulled his cowl up over his head, “Oracle?”

“The store is still living in the dark ages. I can’t pull the footage from here. You’ll have to go through it manually, on site.”

“Nightwing,” Batman growled, “Let’s go. Oracle, get in touch with the shop owner, if possible, and tell them what we need.”

“Got it,” she said as the pair hopped in the Batmobile, “actually, looks like GCPD has already called him in so they could search his store for the boys.”

_“Roger. We’ll keep you posted.”_

\----

It took a while, but Batman and Nightwing were able to get ahold of the exact VHS tape they needed. Barbara watched with bated breath, thanks to the camera in Batman’s cowl, as they fast-forwarded to the moment the boys should have walked into view of the camera.

And then, as if on cue, there were Tim and Damian. Arguing. Just as they had been on the last camera that picked them up.

Babs needed a copy of this tape. Watching a grainy video of something happening outside a smudgy window on a twenty-year-old television through a camera hidden in the lens of Batman’s cowl meant she was straining to pick out the details. Once she had her hands on a digital copy, she could work on enhancing the image.  Maybe even figure out what all was being said.

On screen, Tim and Damian froze and spun around just as the five men they’d already identified closed them off in a circle. They seemed to speak for several minutes. Three minutes and fourteen seconds, according to the timer she had running.

For three minutes and fourteen seconds, the boys and the thugs spoke to each other. Then, all hell broke loose.

Something the main thug said to them startled the boys, because they both bristled and prepared to defend themselves. Just before they executed their first move, however, the man pointed a gun at Tim and-

The screen turned to static.

Black and white pixels danced across the screen, accompanied by a horrible static sound.

Babs did not miss the days of VHS.

 _”What happened,”_ Nightwing shouted, _“Why did it stop there?”_

“What was the timestamp?” Barbara asked, holding her breath as she looked back at the footage she’d pulled earlier.

 _“11:53:24”_ , Batman reported as he rewound the tape to play it again.

“That’s the same time every other camera in the vicinity went dark,” she observed.

 _“Which means it wasn’t an incredible hack job,”_ Batman added, _“They had some sort of device to fry every camera.”_

 _“It only took you a little over four minutes to get on scene, how did five men escape with Tim and Damian in four minutes?”_ Nightwing wondered aloud.

In response, Batman said the words none of them liked hearing come from his mouth, _“I don’t know.”_

\----

“I have a name,” Barbara said the second her facial recognition search yielded a helpful result, “One of our guys got drive thru last week and paid with a card.”

 _“Do you have a home address?”_ Batman asked over the coms.

“I’ll give you one better. Thanks to Facebook and a lack of privacy settings, I have a current location.”

Babs smiled as she watched the Batmobile’s location speed off to the apartment building the man was currently located. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

She began pulling the footage from the building to backtrack the goon’s movements. Maybe she could even catch them moving the boys to wherever they were being hidden.

Soon, they could put this whole hellish experience behind them.


	7. Two Weeks

Tim turned the key and pushed open the door to their new apartment. They’d seen it before, of course, but now it was theirs. And it was beautiful.

He’d found a nice place in Midtown zoned for a decent elementary school. He hadn’t mentioned that little tidbit to Damian. Instead, he focused on the fact that the apartment was across the street from a park and a public library. A huge public library. And a subway station. Not that one can ever be too far from a subway station in Manhattan, but it was nice to know one was less than a block away.

Honestly, everything about the apartment’s location was great. There was a grocery store right around the block, tons of restaurants, clothing stores, a Best Buy. Pretty much everything they would possibly need within walking distance. It was a dream.

Damian walked inside and placed his bag on the kitchen counter. “I suppose this will be sufficient,” he drawled while looking around. It wasn’t a large apartment. Actually, it was downright tiny.

The entry room was a combination kitchen and living room, and there were three doors off it. Two were bedrooms, both just large enough for a queen-sized bed, and a bathroom. The bathroom was actually pretty large for the tiny apartment. It was completely on par with what the boys were used to, which was strange to Tim. He idly wondered if it had originally been designed as a bathroom.

The kitchen was beautiful. Alfred would have approved of it, Tim was sure. It had a large island, which doubled as the dining table, and more than enough cabinet and counter space for just him and Damian. Tim was actually looking forward to cooking in that kitchen.

“Yeah, I think it’ll work just fine,” Tim said with a proud smile, “Much better than staying in a hotel, yeah?”

The brat rolled his eyes and hopped up to sit on the counter. “Well, the hotel had furniture.”

“I told you, beds are being delivered this afternoon. Actually, we could go shopping and purchase sheets and stuff for them. We’ll probably also need kitchen stuff and a living room set.” Tim pulled out his phone and started looking around at google maps. “Maybe we could go to IKEA? There’s one in Brooklyn.”

“Fine,” Damian sighed, “but I am only agreeing to this because it’s temporary. Otherwise I would never consent such inferior furniture being purchased for my home.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tim said absently while working through the day’s timetable, “It’ll take about an hour to get to IKEA. We need to be back here by 2 to accept the delivery, so we’ll have three hours to get lunch and pick out what we need before we have to head back. Think we can do it?”

“Whatever, Drake, let’s just get this over with.”

After taking a train and then a bus, Tim and Damian walked into the giant maze that was IKEA. “What is this cart,” Tim complained as he pushed the shopping cart, “Who the heck designed these wheels? It makes it so difficult to control.”

“You sound like a housewife,” Damian snarked, an amused grin gracing his face. Tim couldn’t help but smile back at the kid, even if the little jerk had been smiling about the rude comment he had made. It was nice seeing Damian smile for a change.

“Then you push it!” Tim teased as he attempted to pass the cart to the younger boy.

“No. You’re the one who wanted to come here. You push the stupid trolley.”

Tim laughed and led them toward living room furniture, “ _Trolley_. You sound like such a brit when you say shit like that.”

They picked out a sectional sofa, coffee table, and entertainment center fairly quickly, writing down the product numbers so they could place the order before they left. Tim also picked out some shelving to add additional storage to the apartment, but doing so seemed to tick Damian off.

“We do not need more storage, Drake. We don’t have anything nor will we have time to accumulate enough to need it. We should focus on basic comforts.”

Tim ignored him and added a couple dressers to their list. From the kitchen area, Tim let Damian pick out the bar stools for the island while he picked out some kitchen items they needed, such as pot coasters and flour canisters.

Finally, they made it to the marketplace, where Tim knew they were going to spend way too much money. After an hour of just looking through all the household essentials, they had an entire basketful of items, and then some. Bedding, pots, dishes, utensils, couch pillows, a lamp. Damian had even picked out school supplies without realizing why Tim insisted he get pens, scissors, and such

When they reached the décor area, Damian practically blew up. Tim had been admiring a painting he thought would go well with the living room when Damian whisper-shouted, “We do not need décor. This is ridiculous, Drake. It’s as if you don’t even want to go home.”

Tim dropped his gaze from the painting to stare at Damian. The child was fuming. But underneath the anger, Tim could see the desperation. The fear of being stranded. And the hurt that Tim didn’t seem to care. “Of course I want to go home, Damian. I just want us to be comfortable while we wait for Bruce to come get us.”

Instead of responding, Damian latched onto the end of the cart and dragged it toward the ordering station. Tim quickly placed an order to be delivered to their apartment of all the furniture they’d picked out and went on over to the check out. In the end, they only needed three of those ridiculously large reusable totes to carry everything and managed to spend less than their credit limit. It might take them a couple months to pay off their purchase, however.

They called a cab to ride back to midtown and sat in complete silence the entire way ‘home.’ Damian still seemed pissed, and Tim just didn’t want to deal with it. He didn’t want to talk about it because he didn’t want to think about how helpless they were. He wished he had studied the multiverse more, learned about the mechanics of multiversal travel. Instead, he had focused on his hacking and detective skills, not the science side of the universe.

Maybe if he studied physics he could figure it out? He remembered it had something to do with quantum mechanics, so perhaps if he delved deeper into that subject he could ‘discover’ the multiverse himself.

After their beds were delivered and he and Damian put their new bedding on, they decided to go buy food for the apartment. Tim limited them to $100 of groceries, and only what they could carry themselves from the Whole Foods around the block, so they kept it really simple. He let Damian pick most the food, which ended up being completely vegetarian, but Tim figured he could purchase some meat for himself once they got their finances a bit more under control.

For dinner that night, Tim tried his hand at making fried rice with veggies. He followed a recipe he found on google and it didn’t turn out half bad. He certainly was no Alfred, but he didn’t burn the food, either. They definitely needed to purchase spices, though.

Damian made a face at the food but ate it regardless. He hadn’t spoken a word to Tim since his outburst in IKEA, and Tim had no idea what to do. Maybe some good news would make Damian feel better.

“So, brat,” Tim said from where they were sitting on the ground in front of his laptop. He had pulled up some dumb cartoon based on the Teen Titans, or, rather, a meme version of the Teen Titans where Dick was Robin. Tim didn’t care much for it, but Damian seemed to enjoy it. “I thought we should lay out the ground rules for this apartment.”

The kid groaned and shoved another bite of rice into his mouth.

“There’s that park right across the street, and the library. I was thinking, that can be your boundaries, okay? You can leave the apartment, but no leaving Bryant Park. There’s a few restaurants on our block you could eat at, too, but I don’t want you wandering any further. Does that sound fair?”

“The mere thought that you could possibly tell me what to do is laughable,” Damian said dully, refusing to look away from the screen.

“Actually, I can tell you what to do. I’m your guardian now, remember?”

Damian’s eyes snapped to Tim. “That paperwork is faked and applies to a falsified identity you created. It does not translate to you being my guardian.”

“Bruce left me in charge when he told me to take you home,” Tim said, growing more frustrated, “He tasked me with making sure you made it home safely, which, if you haven’t noticed, we still haven’t done. So until we do so, I’m the boss.”

“No,” the demon growled, “you aren’t.”

“Yeah, I am,” Tim snapped, “You’d better start getting used to it, you little shit.”

“I do not need a guardian,” Damian spat, “I have both a mother and a father, unlike you. And you are the last person I would consent to being my guardian.”

Tim lost it. “You think I want to be stuck with you?” he snarled, “I don’t even like you. You are such a pretentious piece of shit. My life was fine before you came along. I was happy, then you show up and I think ‘yeah okay a little brother could be cool.’ I was nice to you but you were nothing but a jerk who tried to kill me. Multiple times. And you know what’s the worst part?”

Damian stared at Tim, his eyes wide while he clearly tried to processed what was happening. Tim wanted to stop, he never lost his temper this bad, but he was so sick of Damian. The brat’s attitude had been wearing him down over the past couple weeks. He was allowed to have his moment.

“Everyone blamed me,” Tim continued, “ _You’re older, Tim. Just be nice, Tim. He’s just a kid. He’s only ten. He was raised by the league, Tim, just give him another chance,_ and on and on and on. I got tossed aside like yesterday’s paper when you came along and was supposed to just take it. You aren’t even a good person. You aren’t even _trying to be._ Now I’m doing everything I can to take care of you and you still don’t appreciate anything. You do nothing but bitch and whine and criticize me and I’m sick of it.”

Damian bristled and shot back, “You’re just jealous Father realized how pointless you were once he had a blood son.”

Tim narrowed his eyes and glared at Damian, “At least Bruce chose me,” he said coldly, “He got stuck with you. That’s pretty much the only reason anyone ever spends time with you.”

Damian stood up and threw his fork at Tim as he stormed off to his room. Tim ducked and resisted the urge to toss his own fork at the kid.

“You sure are acting like a child for someone who isn’t one!” Tim said as the kid reached the threshold of his bedroom.

“I hate you,” Damian screamed as he slammed his door shut.

“Good job, Drake,” Tim mumbled to himself. He was pretty sure their exchange counted as verbal abuse or something. He had said the worst possible things he could think of to the brat, and now he was probably in his room crying his eyes out. God, how did Dick deal with the kid for as long as he did?

Tim got up, collected their used dishes, and started cleaning the kitchen. He decided it was best to let them both calm down before deciding what to do next. Dick would have been outraged with him, with his words. _”Tim,”_ he would have said in his appalled and reprimanding voice, _”He’s just a child. He just wants your approval.”_ God, why was Dick always so fricken right?

He’d give anything to have Dick Grayson walk through the front door to clean up his mess. No one calmed Damian down like their eldest brother. Tim was so out of his depths with this.

It only took 15 minutes to wash and dry the dishes. Tim found himself scrubbing down the already clean counters just to delay the inevitable. He needed to apologize to Damian. Needed to speak to him, have them actually talk through their issues. Losing his temper on a 10-year-old had been inappropriate.

The brat was just a child, a child Tim knew well. He knew exactly what Damian’s insecurities were and had hit on each one of them, his words like poison for the young boy’s mind. It was just like when people tell Tim he’s useless, that no one wants him around, he’s replaceable, not important. All the things Damian says to him daily, actually. But Tim had learned to ignore Damian months ago. His opinion didn’t matter. Even if there was some grain of truth in what he said…

Okay, Tim needed to get off that train of thought. It wasn’t true. Bruce wanted him, regardless of what Damian said. Bruce wanted Damian, too, despite what Tim said, and now Tim needed to apologize for it. How dare he make someone else feel that way. Tim was well acquainted with insecurities about his place in the family, he should know better than to inflict that pain on others, especially not children.

Finally, an hour after their fight, Tim worked up the courage to knock on the boy’s door. “Damian,” he said cautiously. He didn’t hear anything coming from inside the room, so at least the child wasn’t crying.

When Damian didn’t answer, Tim knocked again and said a bit louder, “Damian, can I come in?”

“No, Drake. Go away.”

Tim sighed. At least Damian sounded like his normal angry self. “Please, Damian? We need to talk.”

“I do not wish to speak with you. Leave me alone.”

When does the kid ever ‘wish’ to speak with Tim? Never. Tim closed his eyes and rested his head against the door. “Damian…” he began, unsure of how to start.

“I said leave,” Damian shouted as something thumped against the other side of the door.

“Look,” Tim snapped. He paused to take a breath and calm back down. Losing his temper would just make everything worse, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said that stuff, I didn’t mean any of it. I’m just- I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone now.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Tim walked away from Damian’s door and into his own bedroom. He flopped down dramatically on the bed and remained there, thinking. He had no idea how to take care of a child. Heck, Tim could barely take care of himself if one listened to Alfred and Dick’s opinions.

Stupid Bruce making him drive Damian back home.

\----

Morning came quickly, somehow. Meaning Tim managed to actually sleep through the night without waking. Not having nightly activities was really helping his sleep cycle, Tim mused. He felt more rested, but sluggish at the same time. He needed to start working out or something. Two weeks without daily strenuous physical activity was slowing him down.

Damian didn’t make an appearance for breakfast, but Tim had heard him in the shower at some point so he knew the kid was at least awake. Hoping Damian would appear outside his room before he left for work, Tim finished getting his things together for the day. By the time he needed to leave, Damian still had not emerged, so Tim walked over to the bedroom door.

“Hey, Damian?” he asked cautiously, hoping the anger the child felt the night before had dissipated some. When Damian didn’t answer, “I have to leave for work now. Remember, you can go to the park or library across the street. I bet there’s a lot of cool things to draw in the park,” Tim said encouragingly, then frowned, “When I get home tonight I can go with you to the library to get you a card, okay? So you can check stuff out? For now you can probably read stuff while still in the building. I don’t know.”

Silence was the only thing Tim heard from Damian’s bedroom, so he continued, “There’s cereal for breakfast. I’m leaving some money on the counter for if you want to go out for lunch. Remember, stay on our block. Uh, yeah. That’s it. I’m leaving now.” He hesitated a moment longer then left.

It was a beautiful summer day, and the mood of outside didn’t mesh well with the depressing atmosphere of Tim’s apartment. Maybe once they had their furniture and everything set up it would seem happier. Hopefully that could cheer Damian up, as well.

One thing Tim was really enjoying about this new world was the anonymity he and Damian had. In Gotham especially, they couldn’t walk down the street or into a restaurant without being noticed. Sometimes being recognized had its advantages, such as when they didn’t bother to get reservations at a classy place, but other times it was just annoying. Not having to fear his actions making the cover of tabloids in the morning was nice. Not that he was planning on doing anything tabloid worthy.

It was refreshing, being able to go to work and not be noticed. He rode a train without people staring at him and made it all the way to the RI building without a single person trying to speak to him. It was great. If only he could get Damian to see the positives, too.

Work was a lot of fun. Much more fun than he had at WE, and to be honest, Tim loved his job at WE. The staff of Roberson Industries were incredibly easy to get along with. No one had much of an issue with his age. Occasionally someone would call him “kid” or make some crack about him being ‘just a baby,’ but overall, he was well respected for his accomplishments and no one looked down on him. It was awesome.

He spent most of his day teaching his employees the techniques he used to hack into the company’s servers while he directed the effort to upgrade all of the cyber security. Everyone was eager to learn from him, and Tim was routinely impressed by how quickly his employees picked up on what he was explaining.

That evening, Damian still wasn’t speaking to him. The brat at least showed up for dinner, which was progress, Tim guessed. He hoped that the little gremlin would forgive him soon enough and they could go back to normal. He needed that to happen soon, too, since Tim was going to be enrolling Damian in the primary school within the next week. There was only two weeks left until school started and Damian was not getting out of it.

"Hey brat," Tim said half way through dinner, "what do you say we start sparring every morning or something? I'm getting restless without training daily." 

"What would be the point, Drake," Damian drawled, breaking his silent treatment, "You already forbade us from going out as Robins." 

"You know that's because we don't have our uniforms. Plus, superheroes don't exist in this world. We would absolutely be arrested if we went out and fought crime as vigilantes."

"Train on your own. I already train every morning, it is your own fault you are lazy." 

"Fine," Tim huffed. He had hoped sparring would be a way for them to bond or something. That's what they needed to do, right? Bond? Then again, maybe it was a terrible idea to even suggest in the first place. Damian had tried to kill him on multiple occasions. Willingly fighting with him every morning was probably just asking for trouble. 

While Damian was doodling in his sketchbook after dinner, Tim made a list of all the things he needed to do to finish establishing their life in the strange universe. He had to get a NYC driver’s license, legally this time. At the DMV. Enroll Damian in school and get the brat a library card. Finish setting up their apartment. And finally, look into college options for himself.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks and Bruce hadn’t made contact at all. If the man knew where they were, he’d be there already, wouldn’t he? Tim needed to start working on reaching Gotham from their end, and to do that he needed to learn everything he could about quantum physics. While he could easily just educate himself through research, he might eventually need lab access. So, to get that, he’d have to be a student.

The more research he did, the less helpless he felt. He could do this. He could figure the science behind multiversal travel out and find a way to bring them home. Maybe just him putting in the effort would appease Damian, too. Then the kid could chill out and just enjoy their break from Gotham. Tim knew he was.


	8. One Month

School started on Thursday. It was Monday, and Damian was set to start school on Thursday. Just three days away. Three more nights and then Damian had to go to school. Now only if the kid knew that.

Tim had no idea how to broach the topic, either. He had been hoping the brat would just bring it up himself. _’Hey Drake I know I’m an insufferable little prick who thinks he’s too good for school, but I should probably go. You know, to keep our cover.’_

Yeah. That wasn’t happening.

Their relationship hadn’t really been improving. No, it had been stagnating. Which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t all bad. At least it wasn’t getting worse, right? Tim and Damian only spoke when absolutely necessary. They ate meals together in silence, and spent their weekends running errands together while simultaneously ignoring one another. It was a routine Tim could get used to, honestly, and had.

It was almost like living alone again, he just had to make twice as much food and vaguely keep an eye on a kid. Damian hadn’t been causing trouble, so there really wasn’t much Tim had to do. The boy remained within the boundaries Tim set. Somehow. Miraculously. And he rarely complained anymore. As long as Tim remembered how to do everything the way the kid liked, for instance by not putting meat in his food or touching his stuff, everything went smoothly.

It was good. It was nice. Tim was about to ruin that all.

Tim spent the evening after dinner the way he normally did, working his way through free online college classes he found. Some website called edX offered courses from real accredited universities, and while none of it counted toward a college degree, it was a good way for Tim to start building his knowledge in quantum physics.

Classes for Tim actually started the next day. He had opted for taking core classes online, however. As many as the university would allow him to sign up for. Amazingly, RI had a program for paying for employee’s college, so everything was covered by the company. It was a dream. Tim had never realized how utterly expensive school was. Another perk he missed about being Bruce Wayne’s son. Cost? What cost? What even _is_ money?

“So, Damian,” Tim said abruptly when he found a good stopping spot in his current module.

Damian briefly looked Tim’s way before refocusing his attention on the TV. He was watching a cartoon about the Justice League. It was a rather dumb cartoon, in all honestly, and dealt almost entirely with the superhero identities of its members. Actually, Tim had yet to see a single tv show or cartoon about their home world that he liked. He always found something wrong with everything they watched.

Tim took Damian’s brief acknowledgement of him as permission to keep talking, so he did. “I start classes tomorrow. It’s a good idea I work on getting a college degree. It’s good for our cover story, if I at least look like I’m investing in my future. But there’s something you have to do, as well.”

“What would that be,” Damian said boredly.

With a deep breath, Tim closed his eyes and quickly spat out the news, “You need to go to school.”

“What,” Damian demanded. Tim opened his eyes to see the kid glaring daggers at him.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied nervously, “so I enrolled you at PS 51?”

“A _primary_ school? A _public_ primary school?” Damian shouted.

“Well, yes. You’re ten and you turn eleven in January, so that would mean you’re in 5th grade. And 5th grade is in primary school.”

“That is ridiculous, I was educated enough to have several PhDs at the age of four. I do not need to go to _primary school._ ”

Every time Damian said something like that, the age got lower. Tim wasn’t sure he believed the kid was educated enough to have a single PhD _now._ Especially not considering Alfred had been homeschooling him. Tim was fairly certain that while, yes, he was further advanced than 5th grade, he wasn’t much further along than maybe 9th grade, based on the books Alfred had been using.

“It’s good for cover, Damian,” Tim said tiredly.

“I won’t go.”

“It starts on Thursday. You have to go.”

“You can’t make me,” he shouted.

Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes. He was sick of hearing that phrase. “Yes, I can,” he said firmly, “You’re going and that’s final.”

Damian clicked the TV off and stormed off to his room, muttering “This is ridiculous,” as he went. Tim took it as a win.

That is, until Damian refused to leave his room any time Tim was home for the next two days.

It was fine though. Really. Damian usually shouted at Tim whenever he knocked on the boy’s door, so he was definitely okay in there. It’s just. Maybe Tim was a little lonely at breakfast and dinner. But it was fine. He was used to being alone.

Classes were doing a good job at occupying his time, anyway. He was taking seven classes and it was a ton of work. He had gone through and divided up the work so he could efficiently complete the courses over the semester, and as long as he did one week’s worth of work in one class per day he’d be fine. That was something he could handle.

The classes weren’t difficult, either. He was taking basic math, English, history, and science classes. He likely wasn’t going to learn anything new, but at least it would constructively waste his time. Tim hated sitting idle.

\----

Thursday morning was tense. Tim prepared the boy’s backpack with all the school supplies he was required to have and made waffles for breakfast. Damian got up when he needed to and even got ready for the day.

But that didn’t mean Damian was making it easy.

“Your teacher’s name is Ms. McClellan,” Tim said conversationally over breakfast.

Damian glared back with so much hatred, it made Tim want to shrink down. It wasn’t an unseen expression from Damian, but it was rare he projected it so venomously.

“Who knows,” Tim said, electing to ignore the child, “maybe you’ll make some friends and then you won’t have to spend all your time with me.”

“Spending time with pathetic children would be better than keeping you for company.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“This is pointless, Drake,” Damian snapped, “We will not be here long enough for any of this to be necessary. Why are you forcing us to establish lives here?”

“It’s already been a month, Damian. Besides, it’s the law that you go to school. I could get arrested for not sending you.”

“Tt. Good. I hope you do.”

Tim sighed and finished eating his breakfast in silence. When they were both done, he rinsed the dishes quickly and gathered their bags and handed Damian his backpack.

The child took it with a pout and followed Tim out the door and onto the street. Tim explained to Damian that he was going to allow the child to walk home by himself once school let out, as long as he promised to go straight home and text Tim when he left school and when he arrived home.

Damian was, of course, outraged by the restrictions, but didn’t say he wouldn’t follow orders. It was a twenty-minute walk and Tim was nervous to allow it at all, but he knew the child would never consent to staying in the after-school program to wait to be picked up. It was bad enough he was being subjected to school but being babysat would likely push Damian over the edge. Tim wanted to avoid that.

They walked together into the school and to Damian’s new classroom, where the kid scoffed and sat dramatically at his assigned desk, decorated with a cute name plate that read ‘Damian Wagner.’

He had already warned the teacher when he met her the day previous, without Damian in tow, that the child did not want to be at school and would likely cause trouble. She assured Tim that she had had experience with difficult children and that everything would be okay, ‘ _especially since he has a guardian who cares enough to notice._ ’

“Alright, I’m going to work now. Please behave. School can be fun if you let it be.”

Damian glared at Tim and spat, “Just leave, Drake. I am perfectly capable of handling myself. I do not need you hovering.”

“Alright,” Tim said with a nod. He turned to leave and shot Ms. McClellan a nervous smile before exiting the classroom.

\----

The day went incredibly smoothly after that, to the point Tim was just waiting for everything to fall apart. It was one of those strange feelings where he could just tell something was coming, so life was making everything easy on him so he could handle it better.

That’s why when his cell phone rang after lunch, Tim didn’t want to even look. As expected, it was from the school office.

“Hello,” he said, after taking a deep breath and pushing down all the anxiety he felt for the call.

 _“Mr. Wagner?”_ the voice said. She sounded… annoyed.

“Yes, that’s me.”

_Mr. Wagner. I’m Cindy Walker from-“_

“Yes, Damian’s school,” Tim cut in impatiently, “Sorry. What has he done?”

_”Well, he attacked the gym teacher.”_

“He did what now,” Tim said flatly, just as Paul walked into his office. Because of course his boss would walk in while he was receiving a call from Damian’s school on the kid’s first day.

_He is claiming it was self-defense, but he actually flipped Mr. Peters onto his back and after reviewing the security cam footage we cannot determine what set him off.”_

“I see. So, what are you doing about it?”

_”Well, the principal would like to meet with you to discuss the incident and any consequences of it.”_

“Right now?” Tim said with a frown.

 _”Yes,”_ Cindy said impatiently, _“This is a pretty serious incident, Mr. Wagner.”_

“Right. Okay, I’m on my way, but I’m on the other side of Manhattan so it’ll be a bit.”

_”We understand. Thank you, Mr. Wagner.”_

“Sure,” he said, hanging up the phone.

Paul raised an eyebrow at Tim, as if asking ‘what on earth was that about?’

“Damian apparently flipped his gym teacher onto the man’s back, because of course he fucking did,” Tim ranted, rubbing at his face. Damian was going to be the death of him.

One day. He was in school for one day. Not even that and he was probably expelled already. What the hell was he going to do with the brat?

Paul frowned and sat in one of the chairs across from Tim. “How are you two doing?” he asked calmly.

Tim shot him a look and asked, “What do you mean? Aside from Damian being a brat and starting fights on his first day?” Tim rolled his eyes and shook his head. “We’re fine.”

“Tim, there is no way you’re fine. It’s been a little over a month since the accident. A lot of changes hit both of you really suddenly, it’s okay to not be fine. Completely understandable. I’m actually surprised you’ve been as put together as you are. I mean, I met you not even two weeks after it happened and had I not read about it online, I wouldn’t even know.”

Tim sighed, “I’m still processing. Work distracts me well enough.”

“And Damian doesn’t have that distraction, does he?”

The realization hit Tim like a ton of bricks. Damian… had been sitting alone every single day for a month dealing with the loss of their family, of their entire world. Alone. With nothing to distract him. And while, yeah, they weren’t actually dead, they might as well be. It felt the same, anyway. The longer the two of them were stranded in this universe, the more obvious it was becoming that rescue wasn’t on its way. They were on their own.

“Oh god. I hadn’t even-“ Tim took a deep breath, willing the tears he felt well up to disappear. Damian was just a kid.

“You know,” Tim laughed awkwardly, “Damian and I hated each other. Before. Kind of still do, I guess. I’m trying so hard, but he makes it difficult.”

“Nothing in life is ever easy, and this is a particularly difficult situation, Tim. It’ll get better. If you want, I can get you a book to read about childhood loss. It might help you understand your brother better. Might even help you understand yourself.”

“I’m not a child,” Tim said before laughing, “I sound just like him. He says that all the time.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute while Tim focused on composing himself. Crying in his office, which had glass freaking walls, was not something he wanted to do. It would only make him look like the 16-year-old he was.

“I don’t hate him, you know,” Tim finally said, softly, breaking the silence, “He’s my little brother.”

Paul nodded in understanding, “Does he know that?”

Tim frowned. “Probably not. He’s not good at recognizing that kind of stuff. Our dad wasn’t the best at…” Was Tim really blaming Bruce for this? Well Bruce _was_ pretty bad about assuring his children they were loved. So yeah. He was. It was probably also Talia’s fault, but that was a minefield Tim didn’t want to get into.

“Well then,” Paul said with a gentle smile, not forcing Tim to complete his thought about Bruce, “I think that’s what you two should talk about when you get him home. You should probably get going before the school calls again.”

“Yeah,” Tim said as he stood and shoved his laptop into his messenger bag, “Yeah. I should go get him before he attacks someone else.”

Half way out of the office, Tim turned to face Paul, “Uh, thanks. I needed that.”

“Of course, Tim. I’m always here if you need me.”

Tim smiled and nodded before turning to leave. It would take about half an hour to get to Damian. He had half an hour to put together his thoughts and get himself under control.

How could he not have noticed how much pain Damian was in? Obviously, he knew the kid was upset they weren’t home yet, but he had never really thought through how difficult this would be for him.

And Tim. Tim had invested all his time in setting them up in this world. Establishing identities. Finding work. And then he lost himself completely in that work, leaving Damian all alone.

Did the kid feel abandoned by Tim, too?

Next thing Tim knew, he was sitting across from the principal discussing Damian’s actions. Apparently, the gym teacher had put a hand on Damian’s shoulder and the boy reacted by flipping him over.

It was inappropriate and a complete overreaction, but they were willing to give Damian another chance if Tim explained why the child would react so violently to a simple touch. Tim reluctantly told the principal that the boy’s time with his mother wasn’t exactly pleasant and he hadn’t even been rid of her a full year, leaving all the details entirely vague enough to allow the woman to fill in the blanks herself.

That, combined with already knowing Damian was ‘mourning the loss of’ his father and two oldest brothers, meant that they decided to only send Damian home for the day, with the promise that he would try harder tomorrow. And maybe Tim should get him some psychological help.

Right. Because Damian would consent to _that._

\----

The walk home was anything but silent. Tim wanted to wait until they got back at the apartment before discussing it, but Damian wasn’t so patient.

As they arrived at their building, Damian declared, “I told you school was ridiculous. That man attacked me and I’m the one in trouble.”

“He didn’t attack you, demon,” Tim said, entering their access code to the building, “he put his hand on your shoulder. You overreacted.”

Damian huffed, “He had no right to lay a hand on me.”

They walked across the lobby to the elevators and rode up to the fourth floor.

“You’re right, Damian. He probably shouldn’t have done that, but he didn’t know better, because this isn’t fucking Gotham and he was only trying to get your attention. He meant you no harm.”

“I doubt he will ever make that mistake again,” Damian said with a smug smile as they walked down the hall to their apartment.

Tim put the key in the door and turned it. “Did you have to flip him? Why would you do that? He’s a teacher, Damian, and he wasn’t even attacking you.” He pushed the door open and motioned for the brat to go inside.

“Why do you even care?” Damian shouted defensively, “You’re just mad you had to leave your pathetic job.”

“Yeah, but also it was the first fucking day, brat,” Tim said, closing the door with a bit too much force, “You couldn’t behave for one damn day? What would Dick say about this?”

Damian snarled and leapt at Tim, brandishing a knife that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Shit.

Damn Damian and his stupid knives.

“What the fuck!” Tim shouted as he jumped out of the way of Damian’s attack, “Knock it off, seriously you little demon!”

“Don’t you talk about Grayson,” he shouted as he lunged at Tim again. The two danced in the middle of the apartment, Damian trying to get a hit in on Tim and Tim trying to disarm Damian.

Finally, Tim got a hold of the brat’s wrist and snatched the knife out, tossing it to the side in one smooth motion. Then, still gripping the boy’s wrist, he spun Damian around and took control of the boy’s other arm, trapping him in a bear hug. When the boy started kicking, Tim dropped to the ground and used his legs to trap the boy’s against the floor, completely immobilizing the brat.

They sat on the ground for several minutes while Damian fumed about how horrible ‘Drake’ was while struggling to break free. Tim focused on keeping his breathing under control and Damian subdued while the child calmed down.

The knock on the door made Tim jump a few minutes later. Damian was finally relaxing in Tim’s grip and had quit ranting about how much he hated him.

He waited a second to see if the knock was on purpose before he heard the knock again, this time accompanied with a man shouting, “Police.”

“Shit,” Tim swore under his breath. “Look what you did. If I get up to answer that, are you going to stab me?”

“Tt,” Damian responded, “you can unhand me Drake.”

It wasn’t a promise, but Tim figured it was as close as he’d get. He let go of Damian’s arms and legs and got to his feet. “I’m coming,” he said loud enough for the officer outside to hear when he knocked again.

Tim sighed and unlocked the apartment door. He opened it to allow the police in and turned to go sit at the island before they entered. Two officers were standing in the doorway, each with a hand resting on their guns. The first officer was tall and muscular with blond hair, and the second was a bit shorter, but no less muscular, with brown hair. Tim briefly wondered if all NYPD officers travelled in pairs or if their tussle had sounded so violent that dispatch decided two responding officers would be required.

“We got a call about a domestic disturbance,” the officer said from the threshold of the apartment.

“Yep. One happened,” Tim said flippantly, “Might as well come in, you’re going to eventually, anyway.”

They had really screwed up this time. Would the police arrest Tim? Shit. He was an adult here. He would be held accountable for physical fights between himself and Damian.

His arms became shaky as his adrenaline and heart rate spiked with nervous anxiety. He’d dealt with the police many, many times, but never as the potential criminal. Unless one counted vigilante work as criminal, of course.

“He’s over there,” Tim said, pointing to where Damian was pouting on the couch. “I didn’t hurt him, he attacked me.”

“Tt. Of course you didn’t hurt me, Drake. You could never even hope to cause me harm.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks kid.”

“So, what’s going on here? Neighbors said it sounded like a case of child abuse.”

“My little brother jumped me with a freaking knife. It’s on the ground over there, if you want to take possession of it or something. The kid probably has at least four more on him, though. He’s a paranoid little… thing.”

“And are you armed?”

“No, of course not. We just got home from where I had to pick him up from school, where he got sent home for fighting. We were arguing and suddenly he jumped me with a knife when I mentioned our older brother would be disappointed in him.”

“I told you not to speak of him,” Damian hissed.

The two officers exchanged a look and split up, the blond walking toward Tim while the brunet approached Damian.

“Are your parents home?” Officer Roberts, apparently, asked Tim.

Tim snorted, “No. I wish. It’s just us.”

“Right. How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen. I have legal custody of him, and I swear I did not attack him. I disarmed him and held him in a bear hug until you guys arrived so he could calm down without hurting me or himself.”

“Neighbors said it sounded pretty loud. They could hear you two shouting all the way to your apartment then heard what sounded like a fight.”

“They probably heard me disarming him. It took a minute, you know? Kid is highly trained in martial arts, he’s not just some weak little ten-year-old. I didn’t hit back once, only defended myself and worked on getting the knife.”

Officer Roberts nodded and met eyes with his partner. The two of them moved to the corner to chat softly for a moment before they both approached Tim.

The shakiness intensified in his body as butterflies began fluttering in his stomach. Was he going to be arrested? Did Damian feed them a lie about him? Did they believe Tim?

“Well, the story checks out,” Officer Roberts said, “but social services will have to be notified to check in on you guys.”

“I understand. I’m not abusing him, so it doesn’t matter how often they come. They won’t find anything.”

The second officer nodded. “Good. Maybe you should get the little guy some help or something. It’s not normal for children to attack their caregivers with knives, angry or not. Has this ever happened before?”

“A few times, but our dad or older brothers were usually around and could just give him a look and he’d stop.”

“Here,” the cop said as he pulled out his cell phone and a business card. “here’s the number of a child psychiatrist I know,” he continued as he wrote a number on the back of the card, “The kid needs it.”

Tim accepted the card with a nod, knowing full well Damian would never consent to therapy. But this was the second person in one day to mention getting the boy help. Maybe he should try? If nothing else, Tim could at least read up on child psychology. “Thank you, officer,” he said as he showed the men out.

When he shut the door, his heart was still racing and his head felt light. Everything was falling apart. Tim had worked so hard to set up their lives, and it was all almost destroyed in one moment of anger.

“Damian, I can’t do this. I can’t- If you’re going to-“ Tim closed his eyes and had to grab the bar stool to steady himself. So many emotions were assaulting him at once. Anger. Sadness. Relief. Anxiety. Rage. Grief. They were at war within him and it took all his strength not to buckle under the pressure.

He was alone. He was alone and had to deal with Damian. He had to deal with Damian and might never see Bruce and Dick again. Or Alfred. Or Jason.

He just- He needed them. Damian wasn’t the only one suffering. So much had happened to Tim in the past couple of years. He lost his parents, then lost Bruce, then Dick and Robin, his spleen. Sure, he got Bruce back but nothing went back to normal. They were still readjusting with Damian in the picture, and really still adjusting to Jason, too.

He thought he had lost everything before.

But now…

_”I’ve got you."_

Those words had made everything better when Jack died. What he wouldn’t give to hear them now. To be wrapped in Bruce’s massive arms, where he was safe. Protected from everything causing him pain.

He’d never have that again.

Bruce was gone. Bruce. His neighbor. His idol. His boss. His mentor. His _dad_.

He’d lost everything.

“Drake,” Damian said, his voice thick with barely contained emotions.

Tim realized he was crying. Not crying. He was sobbing with his head hidden in his arms on the counter. When had he moved? Why couldn’t he stop?

“Drake, what’s wrong?” Damian asked, his voice hallow and… and scared? Uneasy?

“I’m alone,” Tim tried to say while he tried to reign in his emotions, it came out as a garbled sound, though.

Crap. Tim was falling apart in front of the brat. He had worked so hard to keep it together for the runt and now he was shattering right in the middle of the kitchen.

“What?” Damian asked from just a few feet behind Tim. He should probably be more wary of the kid, considering he just tried to kill Tim not thirty minutes prior, but all Tim could focus on was his own breakdown.

Tim forced a deep breath and said again “I’m alone,” just before another set of sobs wracked his body. Crying sucked. His face was hot and his head hurt, but he couldn’t will himself to stop.

Damian cautiously approached the counter and sat on the stool next to Tim. His voice caught as he started to say something, but then stopped. Seeming to decide to press forward, he said quietly, weakly, “No, you’re not.”

Tim sat up and rubbed at his eyes, trying to force the tears to stop. “What?” he asked, once he had calmed down to sniffling.

“You’re not. I’m- well. It’s just, we’re both here and we’re- so,“ Damian’s voice faded as a frown settled on his face.

Tim shook his head, not understanding, as he wiped new tears out of his eyes. No matter how much he did so he could not clear his vision.

Damian took a deep breath and closed his eyes before saying much more confidently, “You’re not alone. We’re family, and family means no one-“

“Are you quoting _Lilo and Stitch_ at me?” Tim cut in with a laugh that was so forced it sounded like another sob.

“I don’t know what that is,” Damian said, still frowning, “it is something Grayson says to me a lot.”

Tim laughed more genuinely this time and said, “Gray- ugh Dick was quoting a children’s movie at you. ‘Ohana means family and family mean’s no one gets left behind.’ It- It’s a good movie, actually.”

“Well,” Damian said with a shrug, “regardless.”

A few minutes passed in silence as Tim finally regained his composure. He eventually said, “You’re right. I-“

“I’m sorry I attacked you,” Damian blurted out.

Tim nodded and asked, “You know I don’t hate you, right?”

Instead of answering, Damian averted his eyes and looked at the kitchen counters.

“I don’t. You’re my little brother. I actually care about you a lot, okay?”

The child nodded, looking more and more like the ten-year-old he was with every passing second. “Me too,” he whispered.

“Come here,” Tim said as he took Damian’s arm and tugged the child toward him. He wrapped his arms around Damian, pulling his head into his chest.

Damian hesitated for a moment before returning the hug and repositioning so his head was on Tim’s shoulder. “Why hasn’t Father come yet?” he asked in a small voice.

“I don’t know,” Tim responded, closing his eyes. There were so many reasons why Bruce might not have come yet, but the longer they were stuck the harder it was to believe they were coming.

“Don’t they care? I-I thought they cared.”

Tim’s heart broke. “Oh, Damian,” he said, tightening his hold, “of course they do.”

“I thought with you here, they’d at least come for you.”

“Damian.”

“They’re probably glad to be rid of me,” he said bitterly.

“Hey,” Tim said, pulling away so he could look at Damian in the eyes, “Would you quit?”

“Why haven’t they come?” he asked, meeting Tim’s eyes. It wasn’t often Damian showed weakness. Or emotions, really. But in that moment, Tim could see so much in his little brother’s eyes. He was lost, hurt, and scared.

He was a child questioning the love of the people he had chosen as family. The boy had given up everything for Bruce and Dick. His prestige, his legacy, his mother. Everything he’d ever known for a father and brother he had known less than a year.

And now, to him, it looked like they had abandoned him. Tossed him aside and forgotten all about him. It would be easy to do that, right? They had known about Damian about nine months, while Damian had been dreaming about meeting Bruce his entire life.

Of course, Tim knew neither Bruce nor Dick would ever be able to live without Damian now. The child had wormed his way into the hearts of the entire Wayne family, whether any of them were willing to admit it aloud or not. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? No one was willing to admit it, and since Dick was the only one free with affection, it was difficult for Damian to believe he had it from anyone.

Tim pulled Damian back into the hug and rubbed the child’s back. “They love you,” he consoled, “Don’t ever doubt that. I’m actually kind of jealous, okay, because I never fully earned what you just have. Bruce loves you so much, and of course Dick adores you. I’m sure they’re doing everything they can to find us, but obviously something’s gone wrong. Whatever the reason is, it is _not_ because they don’t want you back, so don’t ever think that again.”

Damian’s grip on Tim tightened as he buried his face into Tim’s shirt. They stayed like that and Tim decided to wait for Damian to break the hold. Damian never cried. Never showed emotion, really, since all emotions were a weakness. Affection and attachment were weaknesses. And the craving for comfort was likely the worst of them all. This was the closest he’d ever seen the boy to crying and the only time he’d ever seen Damian willingly accept a hug. It was probably a bad idea to discourage it.

After a few minutes, Damian let go and sat up to rub at his face. His eyes didn’t have any signs tears had fallen, but Damian was clearly shaken up from the conversation. It was a heavy conversation, after all.

“I bet you’d like _Lilo and Stitch_ ,” Tim said with a small smile, “you’d resonate with it a lot, I think.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“It’s about a little girl who has to live with her older sister after their parents die. They have a hard time adjusting, too.”

“I have done this twice now,” Damian said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” Tim said solemnly, “I’m sorry about that.” After a moment, he added in a cheerier voice, “How about we watch it tonight?”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smile, “We can order in pizza, pop some popcorn, and have a movie night. If Dick found comfort in the movie, maybe we can, too.”

Damian seemed to contemplate the proposed evening plans for a few seconds before he finally said, “Only if you order mushrooms on the pizza.”

“Deal,” Tim said with a grin.

\----

Three hours later, Tim found himself sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table as he and Damian watched a childhood classic.

The movie hit a little close to home, what with Nani fighting with social services over keeping Lilo. After the police visit earlier that day, Tim was a little uneasy about how receptive the NYC social services would be about a ten-year-old living with Tim.

For now, though, Tim wasn’t going to worry about it. That was a problem for another day. Today, he was going to sit on the couch and watch movies with his favorite little brother.

And yeah, Damian was his only little brother but the sentiment still stood, okay?

Paul texted an hour into the movie’s sequel, surprising Tim. His boss hadn’t really texted him much outside of work hours.

 _’How did it go?’_ the text read.

To respond, Tim pressed the camera button and held his phone out to take a selfie. In the picture, Tim was smiling as a sleeping Damian leaned against his shoulder, his face the perfect example of peace and contentment.

Paul shot back a smiling emoji and Tim clicked his phone back off with a fond grin. That was nice of Paul to check in.

Maybe he wasn’t alone, after all.

He _could_ do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to bookworm85 for your comment on the last chapter. I had in my head that Tim was eventually going to take a moment to breathe and have a breakdown later in the story, but your comment made me start thinking about it and I realized it was exactly what this chapter needed to get the plot worked out. So your comment was basically the key to this chapter! Thanks. :D


	9. Jason

Jason Todd did not care about the batbrats. He did not care about the two little Robins. It wasn’t his business, whatever was going on with them.

That’s what he kept telling himself as he scrolled through the news and saw nothing but headlines about the two youngest Wayne kids being kidnapped.

 _'No leads,'_ the articles said.

 _'Vanished without a trace,'_ they claimed.

“Without a trace my ass,” Jason mumbled as he thumbed past the Gazette’s story.

_'Mr. Wayne declined to comment.'_

“Fuck you, Bruce,” Jason snarled as he tossed his phone across the room. He watched it smash into the wall.

“Geez, breaking another phone ain’t gonna solve anything, Jaybird,” Roy said from the couch, completely unphased by Jason’s outburst.

“How long’ve they been missing?” Jason demanded. They’d been away on a mission. Radio silence. No time to check Gotham news. When he got home and turned on his cell phone, he was only mildly alarmed to see ten missed calls from Dickface himself. Instead of calling back, though, he decided to just look at the news.

It was probably another Arkham breakout, and Dick just wanted to make sure Jason wasn’t involved. Or it was Batman doing something stupid, like usual.

But no, it could never be something that simple.

Jason hadn’t wanted to check on Gotham’s news. They were well outside Gotham. Jason only visited that hellhole when necessary, what with Bruce being an asshole and all. But he wanted to speak to Dick Grayson even less.

Roy shrugged. “First I’m hearing of it.”

“Must be pretty bad if he reported it,” Jason observed, pulling up articles on his laptop now and casting a video report to their television, “he hasn’t done that since I…”

 _”The youngest Wayne boys’ kidnapping is reminiscent of the kidnapping and subsequent murder of Jason Todd,”_ the TV droned.

Jason and Roy exchanged a look, and Jason realized he was going to have to get involved.

“Dammit,” he cursed, hopping to his feet to gather the pieces of his uniform, “damn those stupid kids.”

 

That’s how Jason found himself racing into the Batcave, Roy close on his heel. He was livid. If Bruce had reported the boys missing, it meant he already knew what had happened and needed to create a trail for why his two youngest just suddenly disappeared.

It wasn’t enough that Jason had died. He had to go dragging more children into his crusade.

That was going to stop if Jason had any say in it.

The bastard’s first mistake was not barring Jason access to the cave.

“Dammit, Bruce,” he bellowed as he parked his bike and tossed his helmet on the ground

“Jason,” the man greeted brusquely, not even bothering to look away from the freaking computer, “Harper.”

“What happened,” Jason demanded, as he struggled to keep his own rage in check. He’d love to start flipping shit right about now.

“Tim and Damian disappeared while leaving the Wayne Charity-” Dickhead started, just for Jason to cut him off.

“I don’t want the damn public story. You got two more Robins killed, two more _children_ and I want to know how and why you’re sitting here all calmly. Do you even fucking care?”

That caused Bruce to spin in his chair and fix a cold glare toward Jason.

“Apparently not,” Jason laughed, shooting Arsenal a look, “Can you believe this guy?”

“Jason,” Bruce boomed.

“They shouldn’t have been out there in the first place,” Jason challenged, barely paying notice as Nightwing stood from where he was sitting to circle behind him. Roy was back there. He’d watch Jason’s back. “Now tell me who is responsible for this.”

“Why? So you can go kill them?” Bruce said.

“Someone has to do something,” Jason shouted back, inching closer to where Bruce was now standing, glaring at Jason.

Bruce narrowed his eyes and Jason took another step closer. “Not that,” the man said.

“Um, Jason?” Roy said just as Jason was tightening his fist, wanting desperately to connect it to Bruce’s stupid face, “Maybe we should calm down a bit and hear them out.”

Jason spun to face Roy. Calm down? Like hell he was going to calm down when a 10 and 16-year-old were dead because Bruce couldn’t be an adult and keep children off the streets. “Two more Robins are dead,” he hissed.

“The Robins aren’t missing, Jay,” Dick said calmly from where he was standing next to Roy, “Tim and Damian Wayne are.”

Jason blinked. “That wasn’t a cover story?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” he said, turning back to Bruce now. “Who took them? Where are they? I’ll kill them.”

“No killing,” Bruce snapped as he began pulling up files on the Batcomputer.

“Fine. But if those boys are...” he trailed off. If those boys were dead, then. Well. Damn Bruce and his stupid rules.

“They’re not,” Dick said quickly, “They’re fine.”

“How can you be sure?” Roy asked, hesitantly approaching the computer to stand at Jason’s side.

“If they were dead, someone would be gloating, right?” Dick explained, “Their bodies haven’t been recovered and no ransom demands have been made.”

Jason frowned. That might be true, or they finally were facing a villain that was smart enough not to tempt fate after achieving their goal. It took a special kind of idiot to taunt Batman, after all.

“We tracked down and interrogated one of the men suspected of kidnapping the boys. He offered no useful information,” Bruce said, his jaw tight.

Translation: interrogation techniques didn’t work on the bastard, and Bruce was pissed he couldn’t just drop the guy off the roof.

“Let me at him, I bet I could get him to talk.” Everyone knew the Red Hood wasn’t above killing, therefore his interrogations tended to yield results a bit faster than Batman’s.

“Oracle is on the trail of our other four suspects.”

“Where is the first guy,” Jason demanded while reading over the entire casefile Bruce had pulled up, “Let me have a word with him.”

“Your word you won’t kill him,” Bruce said, his voice cold and hard.

“Fuck you.”

The two men stood there, just a couple feet apart, glaring at each other for several long moments before Jason finally said, “Fine.”

“GCPD has him,” Bruce said, pulling up the rest of the case file on one Oscar Dubois, “but he is currently undergoing medical treatment at Gotham General.”

“Great,” Jason said, adding some cheer into his voice, “Arsenal? Shall we pay Mr. Dubois a visit?”

“I love breaking into hospitals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to BrokenHeartedQueen for being a beta reader. <3


	10. Three Months

The holidays had never been anything special for Tim. When he was a kid, it usually meant spending more time alone than normal in the mansion he called home. His parents rarely returned from whatever trip they were on, and the housekeeper who tended to keep him company during the day would spend the holidays with her family, meaning Tim spent most of his winter break alone.

After Bruce, he wasn’t alone anymore. He would spend the time at Wayne Manor, but the Waynes never did much to celebrate anything. Sure, they exchanged gifts on Christmas and ate turkey on Thanksgiving, but it wasn’t a big deal. Not really.

It still made Tim ache, knowing that they wouldn’t be home for Christmas. They wouldn’t sit at the table and name something they were thankful for on Thanksgiving. They wouldn’t be participating in anything.

And what made the pain worse was thinking about how his family was feeling. He knew they missed him. Sure, they probably missed Damian more, but Tim’s absence wasn’t unnoticed. He had been the person sitting at the table, staring at an empty chair. He knew what it felt like to be the one left behind. He hated that it was now him doing it to them.

These thoughts weighed heavily on him in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. Every time a coworker complained about having to go visit the family and listen to whatever relative talk about some stupid controversial topic, Tim wanted to just scream at them ‘well at least you have a family to annoy you.’ But he didn’t. He kept his mouth shut. He smiled and listened, occasionally offering words of support that ‘they’ll get through it’ or some other nonsense.

The holidays had never meant anything to him. But as the saying goes: you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

Tim sat at his desk, eyes closed, as he tried not to wallow in his thoughts. _Get out of that head of yours, Timmy,_ Dick always said. God, he missed Dick.

“Hey, Tim,” Paul said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, Paul, what’s up?”

His boss sighed and sat down in the chair across from Tim. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

Tim shrugged and directed his attention to his computer screen. Nothing. He was doing nothing and he didn’t want to show Paul how much that bothered him.

Paul frowned. “Your brother has the rest of the week off, right?”

He nodded as he read through a new email. Someone in marketing was wondering how to map their computer to a network printer and figured emailing the head of cyber security would be the best line of action for resolving their problem. Instead of asking literally anyone else.

“You should take a trip. You and your brother. Get out of the city for a bit.”

Tim’s gaze moved to Paul, studying the man. Why would his boss be suggesting he take a vacation? He’d only been there three months. “I don’t have time for a break,” Tim finally said. He didn’t want to let himself overthink this. Turn it into an insecurity about his performance at work. He clicked reply on the email and started typing out how to find ‘add network device or printer’ on a Windows.

“I’m making time for it, kid.”

With a deep breath, Tim bit down all the scathing remarks he built up in response to the ‘kid’ remark. Most had to do with being the CEO of a multibillion dollar corporation at the age of 16. A fact Paul could not know about. He could, however, throw his current six figure salaried position in the man’s face, but considering Paul was his boss, the guy already knew how successful he was. So why the hell had he called him ‘kid?’

“Look, Tim, I’m worried about you, okay? You work way too much. You’re here at least 10 hours a day, you’re taking college courses, and you’re raising a kid. That’s too much for most people to take on, and you’re doing it as a teenager. I want you to take the rest of the week and relax. No work. No school if you can help it. Take your brother somewhere out of the city and relax.”

Tim sighed, “Paul-“

“No back talking. I’m making this your project, okay? No working for the rest of the week. Don’t even bring your laptop.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. Having no work would be the exact opposite of relaxing for Tim. Burying himself in his work was how he coped. It was how he survived. If he had nothing but the demon and his own thoughts to keep him company… well. It wouldn’t be good.

“If you don’t, I’ll fire you.”

Tim opened his eyes and glared, his eyes cold. “You can’t do that.”

“Can and will. You’re still in your probationary period,” Paul said with a smile. “Come on, Tim. It’s for your own good, okay?”

“Fine,” Tim huffed, “Where do you suggest we go?”

“Hm. Ever been upstate?” When Tim shook his head, Paul said, “Niagara Falls is beautiful. The drive up there is just as lovely. You should see plenty of colors still. They’re not as good as they were a month ago, but they’re still there, and the snow hasn’t set in yet. Not this far east, at least.”

With a sigh, Tim pulled up a travel website to book the trip. Maybe it would be nice. Probably not, but maybe. He rented a car to drive up to the falls, deciding on that instead of taking a bus. He knew Damian would be too above taking a bus, and maybe he was spoiled from having access to a private plane for so long, but Tim preferred having the flexibility of owning his means of transportation.

When he got home around 7, he found Damian where he always was. Sitting on the couch, hiding under his hoody.

Damian was still having a difficult time adjusting to their new life. He’d always been, well, Damian, but now the boy seemed more distant than he had been before. He was closed off and it was almost like he had detached himself from reality. It was honestly a bit frightening to see.

Before he’d been an obnoxiously overconfident piece of shit. Now his ego was still intact, but he rarely voiced his superiority. He typically just sat there, watching TV or reading a book. Tim was never really sure if he was even paying attention to either activity.

And getting him to talk sometimes felt like pulling teeth.

“Hey,” he said as he hung his keys up and put his bag away. Their apartment was pretty nice. Damian had argued with Tim every time he ordered new furniture or purchased another thing to help settle them into the house, but Tim could not stand living in an empty apartment. He hated feeling temporary, and so he tried making their apartment seem like home, even if it wasn’t. Not really.

There still wasn’t any art on the walls, but it was cozy. He had even started filling the bookshelves.

Damian didn’t acknowledge him, but instead kept watching television. Tim recognized it as that show _Gotham_ and tried not to sigh. Damian seemed to love torturing himself by watching anything and everything about the ‘fictional’ Batman.

The kid just missed his dad, and there was nothing Tim could do to fix it.

“So,” he said as he started pulling out the supplies he needed to make them dinner, “you should probably pack a bag. We’re being forced on a mandatory vacation.”

“What are you prattling on about, Drake?”

“My boss is making us go on a vacation. We’re leaving tomorrow and we’ll get back Sunday.” Tim stuck a pot in the sink and began filling it with water to boil some pasta. Pasta was easy. He could do pasta.

“Why would I consent to a trip alone with you?” Damian hissed.

Tim had to bite back a laugh. He wondered how long the ‘I hate being around you’ charade would last. They both knew it was an act. “In case you haven’t noticed, we live together. Alone. I don’t see the difference. Except, maybe the view will be nicer.”

Damian huffed, “Fine. If you insist, I will accompany on your stupid vacation.”

“Good. We’re going upstate.”

“Tt. Whatever,” Damian said, turning up the volume on the TV, signaling their conversation was over.

As he cooked dinner, Tim thought about what all he needed to pack. A hike would probably be nice, but he didn’t own really anything needed to go hiking. They’d have to hit a sporting goods store on the way up to buy some boots, and maybe a good backpack.

\-----

They left first thing in the morning, taking the train out of the city to pick up the rental car. Damian hadn’t said another word to him, but the child rarely spoke anymore.

Damian was closing in on himself and Tim had no idea what to do. Besides, who was he to talk about unhealthy coping mechanisms? As much as Damian got on his nerves, he did actually care about the kid. He was his little brother, after all, and seeing him depressed was difficult.

That was what the child was, right? He had never been good at identifying Damian’s emotions. Not like Dick. To Tim, he always just seemed angry. Or smug. But lately he just seemed… down.

Tim knew what that felt like.

Three hours into the six-hour drive, Tim turned the music off. “Hey, let’s chat.”

Damian groaned. “Why would I want to chat with you?” The tone was more robotic than sarcastic, giving Tim all the more reason to talk to the boy. If he couldn’t even muster up enough energy to make his insults sound rude, he was probably worse off than Tim had thought. Maybe they should have talked sooner.

“Have you ever read Exodus?” Tim asked. He kept his eyes on the road, trying not to intimidate his brother.

The child shifted in the passenger seat to give Tim a questioning gaze. “The second book of the Bible?”

Tim nodded and repositioned his hands to be at ‘ten and two’ on the steering wheel. He actually had no idea what Damian’s religious views were. They didn’t much matter, anyway. He wasn’t intending on talking about God with the boy. He really wasn’t sure if he believed in God, himself, but he would admit the Bible could be… useful.

“Yes, of course I’ve read it. Why?”

With a steadying breath, Tim began the conversation. “I was listening to a podcast about the story and can’t stop thinking about it. The person, a pastor I think, explained that the Israelites were exiled for 70 years, but they knew one day God would give them the land of Canaan. The Promise Land, right?”

“Yes,” Damian said slowly.

“Well, I keep thinking about how similar that story is to our current situation.”

“You think _God_ has promised us Canaan?”

“No. Think more thematically. Our universe is our Promise Land, and we are currently separated from it. We have no idea how long we’ll be stranded here. The Israelites knew that one day they’d see the Promise Land, and that the place they were forced to wander was not their home, but do you know what they did in the mean time?”

“What?” Damian asked, a faint hint of interest seeping into his tone.

“Acted like it was, because 70 years is a long time, Damian.”

“We will not be stranded here 70 years, Drake.”

“No, probably not,” he replied with a frown, “but it will be longer than a few days.”

“Tt. Obviously. It’s been three months.”

Tim slowed the car to stop at an intersection, then looked over at Damian. “It might be several years, Damian.”

The face Damian made caused Tim’s heart to clench. He’d never seen the child display so much emotion, even so briefly. He could swear the child was about to cry. As quickly as he’d let it slip, Damian shut it all down and hid himself behind his walls again. But Tim had seen it, seen the grief and pain being separated from his family was causing him.

“Damian,” Tim said carefully, softly. “I am doing everything in my power to get us back. I am dedicating my existence to this, believe me, but I have to do everything from scratch, all the research, all the theorizing, all the equations and experiments. It’s going to take years, and that’s after I get to the grad school level and have access to labs. This-” he sighed, “we’re going to be here a while.”

In the rearview mirror, Tim could see a car approaching from behind, so regrettably he refocused on driving and pulled on through the intersection.

“We need-” he paused, trying to collect his thoughts, “The Israelites acted like their exile was their home, even though they knew it was temporary. They settled down, got married, had children. They lived their lives, because no matter how much they disliked where they were, life still happened. Their children grew up, they grew old. Time passed and life happened.”

“Whether we’re here for another week or another ten years,” Tim continued, “life is going to happen around us. We can’t just let it waste away because we’re upset about our circumstances. I don’t want that for you, Damian. I don’t want you to waste away the rest of your childhood because of this.”

Tim didn’t want to waste away his life, either. Paul was right. He had been burying himself in work to avoid his problems. It wasn’t healthy and it needed to stop. Tim needed- he needed friends. Like he had back home. He needed people around him to yell at him for not sleeping or for drinking too much coffee, or to do exactly what Paul had done the day before. Force him to take a break and relax. He needed to stop acting like a mere visitor or tourist to this universe. Stop acting like he was merely on a mission and start acting like it was his home. Because for now, it was.

Finally, after what felt like hours, but had probably only been a few minutes, Damian whispered, “I understand.”

A sign on the side of the road boasted about the world’s best hand churned ice cream a mile ahead. That sounded like something Dick would do. When Damian was upset, he’d always get the kid ice cream. Sometimes even taking him out for it while Batman and Robin. Tim thought it was ridiculous, but maybe…

He pulled into the parking lot and waited for Damian to sit up and act like he was ready to get out. He’d never seen the child cry and was starting to wonder if what he was doing now counted as crying, in Damian’s weird emotional language. He was curled in on himself, as much as he could be while still having appropriate posture for sitting in a moving car. He had his head resting on the window and was staring out at nothing, a blank look in his eyes.

It took him several minutes to sit up and return Tim’s gaze. With a deep breath, Damian said, “I suppose we should test this establishment’s claim. In a world without Pennyworth, perhaps they can claim the title.”

Tim smiled and unfastened his seatbelt. Damian followed suit, and before he knew it they were sitting at a cute little booth in an overly touristy diner. He’d picked the coffee flavor, which had almonds and chocolate chips mixed in, and Damian had selected a ridiculous chocolate concoction that had fudge, brownies, and chocolate chunks mixed in.

They ate in silence for a while, simply enjoying the ice cream, before Damian spoke up. “My whole life,” he began, his voice a near whisper, “I’ve known my purpose. Mother created me to inherit the world. To succeed Ra’s Al Guhl. Father desired I be Damian Wayne, the heir to both Bruce Wayne and Batman. He wanted me to become like him. Grayson wanted me to be Robin, his Robin. He wanted me to use my skills for good, to better the world. I have trained my entire life for combat, on both sides of the war. It was my purpose.”

Damian’s eyes never met Tim’s. He never looked up from his ice cream, but he kept talking anyway, seemingly determined to explain to Tim whatever it was he was thinking about. Tim kept his eyes on Damian, listening intently as the child spilled out what had to be the deepest thoughts he’d ever shared with Tim.

“I do not know my purpose here. I don’t know what it is you desire of me. You say life happens and we must make this our home, but I don’t know how. What is my purpose here?” With the final sentence, Damian finally lifted his eyes to meet Tim’s, and the sight nearly caused him to cry. All he could see in the kid’s glassy green eyes was a lost little boy. A child in so much pain and grief that he no longer knew who or what he was, and he had no idea how to fix it himself. A kid who didn’t even have the energy to hold up the walls he’d spent his entire life hiding behind.

Such a look should never be in the eyes of a ten-year-old.

Deeper in his eyes, though, Tim could see the hope. Damian was pleading for Tim to fix it. He trusted Tim _could_ fix it, and Tim briefly wondered when their relationship had changed so much.

Tim took one last bite of his ice cream before he answered. He needed the time to think through his response.

“I think- I think that’s something you need to find for yourself. Most people don’t find their purpose in life until they’re older than even I am. It’s not a bad thing to not know at 10.” When Damian didn’t respond, Tim continued, “At your age, your job in life is to go to school and get an education. At least, that’s what it is in this society.”

“That’s how it is in our world, too, and yet I still had a purpose beyond what society required.”

“Hmm,” Tim said thoughtfully. “No. It wasn’t really a purpose, Damian. You had expectations, and it wasn’t right of anyone to put those on you.”

Damian scowled. “Explain.”

“It shouldn’t matter why your mother created you, or what your father wanted you to do in life. Nothing anyone else wants matters. You are nobody’s pawn. The only person whose opinion matters when it comes to something as serious as this is yours, Damian. So, what do you want?”

“I-“ Damian frowned, swirling his spoon around the melted ice cream in his bowl, “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. It’s fine to not know. Part of the joy of childhood is finding your place in the world, and you still have plenty of time to do that.”

“You really don’t want anything of me?”

“What I want, Dames.” He paused, then clarified, “ _All_ I want, is for you to be happy.”

Damian blinked, and Tim was certain he saw a minute tremor in the boy’s hand. “What?” he whispered.

“No matter what you choose to do in life, as long as you’re happy, I’m okay with your choice.”

“What if I desire to be a super villain and destroy the planet?”

Tim grinned. “Would that make you happy?”

“I would likely find some amusement in the activity.” After a long pause, he sighed, “but no.”

“Well then, I would not support you.”

They cleared the table and left the little diner. The ice cream had been okay. Not spectacular, but it was creamy and hit the spot.

While the next couple hours dragged on, their conversation slowly slipped out of Tim’s mind as he began contemplating everything he could do in this new world. All the things in life he could do now that he didn’t have vigilantism consuming his every waking moment. He was beginning to see a future for himself, when before he had always assumed he’d die young, like so many had before him.

\---  
A few hours after their stop for ice cream, Tim pulled into the state park he’d picked out for them to hike.

“I thought we were going to Niagara Falls,” Damian said once Tim found a parking spot.

“We are,” he responded, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car, “but right now we’re going to hike here. Get your boots on.”

Damian hoped out of the car and joined Tim at the trunk to change into his new hiking gear. “Why are we hiking here?”

“Well, I thought we’d get bored staring at the same waterfall for four days, and this park has a smaller waterfall at the end of a pretty neat hiking trail. Figured we’d do this first, before we’re spoiled by Niagara.”

The boy frowned as he laced up his right boot. “Either this area is beautiful or it is not. Niagara can’t change that.”

“Nah,” Tim said, “It’s kind of like how you grow up riding the coasters at Amusement Mile every summer, but then you go to Cedar Point and realize that all the rollercoasters you thought were awesome are painfully pathetic.”

Damian shook his head and took the empty water bottle Tim offered.

Tim paused. “No? Wait. Have you even been to Amusement Mile?” Tim often forgot the brat hadn’t grown up in Gotham. Heck, the kid hadn’t even grown up in the _United States_. He’d been in the US for barely a year.

Damian scoffed, “Of course. The joker-”

“No, it doesn’t count if it was for work,” Tim said, cutting the kid off while he shut the car trunk, “That’s it. I’m bringing you to Coney Island. It has to be done.”

“Drake,” Damian sighed, “can we just get this hike over with?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get us a park map, can you fill up the water bottles?”

It took Tim far longer than he hoped to retrieve a map and simple directions to the trail head, thanks to an overly chatty Park Ranger. When he finally escaped the conversation, he had to wander a bit to find Damian.

He finally located the boy fifty yards up the main trail squatting on the ground near the tree line, taking a picture of something.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he approached.

“Shh,” Damian hissed as he shifted his weight to his knees, “Don’t scare it,” he whispered.

Tim crept forward so he could see what the child was looking at and noticed a chipmunk at the base of a tree, nibbling on a nut. He smiled. He had forgotten about the boy’s love of animals. Hiking through the woods was a better idea than he originally thought. Hopefully Damian would get to see a lot of animals in their natural habitat.

Eventually the chipmunk scurried off and Damian stood. “Well? Don’t just stand there,” he said, handing Tim the water bottle he’d filled, “let’s get this over with.”

They walked the three miles to the waterfall in near silence. Damian occasionally spoke up to urge Tim to walk faster, but otherwise kept his thoughts to himself.

When they arrived at the falls, they found a nice rock ledge to sit on and eat the lunch they had packed while observing the waterfall. Tim still didn’t find Damian’s sandwich appealing, despite having eaten a few himself in recent months. Seriously, how could the brat enjoy a sandwich with nothing but a handful of veggies on it? Sure, he got all creative and added stuff like hummus and avocado, but Tim still preferred the good ol’ classic ham and cheese.

Once he finished his sandwich, Damian broke the silence. “Do you really think we’re going to be stuck here for years?”

Tim shifted his gaze away from the falls and over to Damian, just briefly. The boy was leaning back on his hands, looking up at the sky. He wanted nothing more than to just say ‘nah we’ll get home tomorrow,’ but knew better than to lie to the kid. Damian might have been ten, but he was mature beyond his years, in some respects. It was better to tell him the truth than fill him with false hope.

The teen sighed, “If it’s up to me to get us home, then yes, but you never know. Bruce could figure it out and show up any moment.”

“I think it’s clear Father has no idea where we are,” Damian said bluntly.

“Yeah,” Tim said, nodding.

“Can’t you work faster on getting us home? Father always brags about how brilliant you are.”

Tim blinked. “Uh,” he said, stumbling over his words. Bruce bragged about Tim? _When?_

Damian looked over and raised an eyebrow, “Drake?”

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, or rather, the shock, Tim said “Right. Right. Uh, well, before we got here I knew next to nothing about quantum physics. I really don’t know how the multiverse works, and this universe doesn’t believe it exists, so I really do have to start from scratch. I need to learn the subject, theorize on the topic, and do all the work to basically ‘discover’ the multiverse. Honestly, Damian, what I’m doing is usually a lifetime worth of work. Saying I can do it in a few years is…” Tim trailed off. He hadn’t meant to tell the kid _that._

“You-you said it wouldn’t take 70 years,” Damian said, his voice small.

Tim’s heart sank. “It won’t,” he said quickly, “I promise. It won’t. I have an advantage, remember? I know the multiverse exists already, so there’s a huge portion of the research already done.”

Damian nodded, but didn’t look convinced. He ate the last of his dried fruit and stood. “We should head back.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the conversation. Had it helped or hurt Damian? He spent the entire three miles back to the car agonizing over how to make the kid feel better. How to help him cope with the world. In the end, he honestly had no idea what to do for Damian. Tim wasn’t really coping well, himself.

“Damian,” Tim said just before he opened the car door.

The boy looked up at Tim with a blank face before getting into the car. Tim followed suit and turned to face the kid, demanding his attention with his posture.

“I’m gonna get you home. I promise.”

“I know.”

\----

Dinner that night was McDonald’s. It had been so long since Tim had such horrible, greasy food. He loved it. Damian, on the other hand, wasn’t entirely happy with the options. Apparently, not even the fries were vegetarian. Tim still couldn’t figure out how the chain managed to get animal products on chopped up potatoes.

After they got the food at a drive thru, Tim drove them a couple miles down the road, away from the town lights, and parked on the side of the road. He and Damian decided to sit on the car’s hood to eat their dinner. It was such a beautiful night, and neither of them had spent any time recently outside after dark. Tim, for one, missed it greatly.

They sat there for a while, eating in silence, as they normally did. It had become somewhat of a routine, ignoring each other completely while eating. Strangely, Tim enjoyed it. It was nice just having Damian there.

Once he finished off his French fries, Tim leaned back onto the windshield and rested his head on his hands so he could get a better view of the sky above them. They weren’t north enough for the northern lights, but they were far enough outside of the various towns of New York to see the sky without light pollution.

“You probably grew up being able to see the stars, huh?” Tim asked after a while.

Damian took another bite of his salad from where he was sitting crisscross on the hood. “Yes,” he said, without looking up or over at Tim. “Many more than can be seen this close to civilization.”

“Not me,” Tim said, admiring the clear night sky. “I grew up in Gotham, you know? Rare to see the stars, even as far outside of it as we live, with how cloudy it always is.”

“Yes. Gotham is rather dreary,” he said flatly, still not looking up from his food.

“So is New York.”

Damian nodded and took another bite.

Several more minutes passed before Tim spoke up again. “Do you ever miss them?”

“The stars?” the boy questioned. Clearly his train of thought had already shifted elsewhere.

“Yes.”

Damian sighed, “Yeah, I do. The night sky over the desert is one that can’t be paralleled. In my moments of homesickness it is what I miss most.” Damian scraped up what was left of his dinner and ate the final bite. After he put his trash with Tim’s in the bag, he leaned back on his arms and finally looked up at the sky.

Tim could see the relaxed expression the boy wore due to the moonlight reflecting off his face. “You get homesick?”

“Recently?” Damian asked, an amused smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Tim grinned widely, briefly, and turned back to stare at the sky. “Well, no I guess I meant before. In Gotham.”

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

A comet flew across the sky and Tim followed it with his eyes. It truly was incredible. Thousands of stars. Millions, probably, all twinkling. Their light travelling billions of lightyears just so he and Damian could see it.

“I liked Gotham better, though,” Damian said quietly.

“Yeah?”

The kid hummed in assent and the conversation lulled again.

“The universe is so big,” Tim said eventually. It made all his problems seem entirely insignificant. It made Tim feel insignificant. To the universe, he was but a speck of dust.

Damian scooted back to where the windshield meets the hood and lay back, next to Tim. “It is,” he agreed. “I’ve always been able to look out at the stars and see… hope. Endless possibilities. There is so much in the universe we don’t know. Anything is possible. It’s incredible.”

Tim turned his head to Damian. That was the most optimistic thing he’d ever heard come from his brother’s mouth, and one look at his face showed the kid believed it wholeheartedly.

“I-“ Tim started, then stopped. He didn’t need to unload on the ten-year-old.

“You what?” Damian prodded.

Tim sighed. “Do you ever feel insignificant to the universe?”

“No,” said quickly, confidently. As if it were the dumbest question to ever be asked of him.

Tim frowned. He knew he shouldn’t have said it aloud. Not to Damian.

“No,” he said again, forcefully, “because it doesn’t matter what I am to the universe. It’s what I am to the world.”

“What’s the difference?”

“My mother taught me that I would one day rule the world. I grew up believing that. When she-“ Damian paused a took a breath, “when I left. Grayson told me that my place was to help the people of Gotham. To be a hero. To be Robin. While I might not have been destined to rule the world, I could help save it.”

Tim nodded. “I thought the same thing, back home. My work as Red Robin made my life have meaning. But now… now I’m not doing anything to help anyone. I go to work and come home. I take classes online. Nothing I do is for the greater good.

“That doesn’t make you worthless.”

Tim blinked. How did..? “I never said-“

“You might be nothing to the universe, but to some people you’re the entire world. That’s not insignificant. Who cares what the universe thinks?”

Tim huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”  
\----

They had breakfast at a cute little café in Auburn while they discussed options for the day. In the end, they agreed to drive up to Lake Ontario to walk along the shore.

It didn’t take long to find a hiking trail at another state park. At the trailhead, Tim looked over to ask Damian how far he wanted to hike today but had to pause when he saw a smile form on the kid’s face.

Following Damian’s gaze, Tim spotted a couple with a large great dane walking toward them on the trail. “Well, go see if you can pet him,” Tim said, amused.

Damian nearly skipped over to the couple. Skipped. Damian. Tim heard the boy asked “Can I pet your dog?” before being granted permission to play with the pup.

The dog loved Damian. He immediately jumped up on the boy, despite his owner’s protests, and started licking at Damian’s face. In response, Damian laughed and scratched at the dog’s head.

Damian _laughed._

Tim hadn’t heard the child actually laugh once. Not since they got stranded.

The teen half listened as Damian and the couple made small talk about dogs. Damian spoke about Titus, and the couple told Damian about ‘Duke.’ Tim couldn’t really participate. He’d never had a dog, and honestly wasn’t big on animals. He didn’t hate animals, either. They were fine and all. Damian’s zoo didn’t bother Tim much, but he never really saw the appeal of having a pet. Tim did a bad enough job taking care of himself. An animal would probably die if put in his care.

But… Damian. Tim hadn’t seen Damian smile so genuinely in months. Hadn’t heard him laugh at all. All it took was playing with a dog to bring out the happy child he’d seen glimpses of in Gotham.

An idea formed in his head. Maybe that’s all the kid needed…

Eventually, Damian bid farewell to the couple and led Tim further down the trail. Unlike the day before, though, their hike was not had in silence. Damian talked the entire way to the lake, chattering on about what animals they were seeing and random little facts the kid knew about said animals.

Yep. The kid needed a pet. If ten minutes with a dog brightened him up enough that he wouldn’t shut up, after three months of near silence, Tim couldn’t imagine what having his own dog would do.

Damian finally quieted down once they reached the lake. Tim had never been to a great lake before. It looked a lot like the ocean, but instead of salty air, it was clean and almost sweet smelling.

It was beautiful.

They came across an area of beach that was nothing but pebbles. It was as if the stones were begging to be picked up and tossed in, as though the purpose of their very existence on the shore of Ontario was to be tossed back in. So, that’s exactly what the boys did. Damian had never skipped stones before, so Tim decided to teach him.

“So, how’s school going?” Tim asked as he kicked around pebbles, looking for more skipping stones. Damian never spoke about school. Other than seeing the occasional test Tim had to sign, he knew nothing about what the child was even doing at school.

Admittedly, that was probably a good sign. It meant Damian hadn’t been getting into fights. Every grade Tim had seen had been nothing shy of perfect. So, Tim knew Damian wasn’t causing trouble and was excelling in his studies, but he had no idea how the child _felt_ about school.

Damian picked up a stone and shrugged. “It’s boring,” he said as he tossed the rock. It skipped once before sinking into the lake.

Tim found a flat, oval shaped rock and added it to the small pile in his left hand. “Do you fit in? Are you making friends?”

“I’ve never spent time with people my own age. Children my own age. I don’t know how…” Damian trailed off. Frowning, the boy picked up a random rock and tossed it at the water. It plunked in with a large splash.

Tim nodded in understanding. “Maybe you need a hobby.”

“What? I have a hobby.”

“No, I mean something like a sport, with other people.” Tim handed Damian half the skipping stones he’d collected and started tossing his rocks in. The first pebble skipped four times. “Pick something you enjoy. That’ll get you around people your age while doing something you like. It’ll give you something in common with them and everything else will come naturally.”

Damian’s frown deepened while he inspected the rocks he’d been given. “Why do I even need friends?”

“It’s not just about making friends. It’s about doing something with your time that you enjoy.”

The boy nodded and flung a stone at the water. It didn’t skip.

“I hate seeing you sulk around the apartment,” Tim added.

Damian scowled. “I do not sulk.”

“You sulk,” Tim teased.

“What hobby would you suggest?”

“Hmm,” Tim said, picking out a new rock, “I don’t know. Martial arts? You could join a class and do competitions.”

They tossed more pebbles into the lake, the only sounds accompanying them was the splashing of their rocks and the crashing of the gentle waves. Eventually, they found themselves sitting on the rocks, staring out into the vast body of water. Damian periodically picked up a stone and threw it as far as he could, but otherwise kept still.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said.

\---

Niagara Falls was breathtaking.

They had seen a lot of pretty things on their forced vacation, but Niagara Falls was, by far, the best.

Tim took some pictures with his phone, catching the attention of Damian when he tried to take a picture of the boy admiring the falls.

“You should buy a real camera,” Damian said before smiling so Tim could take a posed picture.

“This is a real camera. It’s taking real pictures. See?” Tim turned the phone so Damian could see the picture he’d just taken.

“No, a nice one. Like the one you have at home. You bought me pencils and paint so I can practice my art, now you need to buy yourself a camera so you can practice yours.”

Tim cut his eyes up at Damian from where he’d been editing the picture from his phone’s photos app. “My art?”

“Yes, Drake,” Damian said, rolling his eyes, “photography is art.”

“Huh.” Tim had never considered it an art before. It was a hobby, sure. He enjoyed doing it, but art? All he did was take pictures and play with them in photoshop or lightroom until he liked them.

“When you look at your picture, what are you thinking about?”

“What do you mean? I’m thinking about the picture?” Tim said, slightly confused.

“Are you considering the color? The focus?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess. I look to see what I need to fix to make the picture the best it can be.”

Damian nodded. “See. You are an artist. If you weren’t, you’d just post the picture to Facebook as is like a regular person.”

Tim snorted. “Speaking of, come here.” He flipped his phone’s camera to selfie mode and put his arm around Damian’s shoulder. “Smile. This is for my boss, so he lays off lecturing me about spending time with you.”

The child smiled as asked so Tim could take the picture, then shrugged off Tim’s arm. “What do you mean? You spend time with me. We have breakfast and dinner together every day, plus there’s the weekends.”

Tim opened his Facebook app and uploaded the image as his new profile picture. He would go through his pictures at home and create a post for the trip later. He’d created the account not long after starting at RI, citing the excuse that his dad didn’t let him have social media as the reason why he didn’t already have one. It wasn’t too difficult to befriend most his coworkers, as well has a couple dozen other RI employees he’d never met but added simply because they shared a place of work.

“Yeah, well. Paul’s kind of pushy, you know?” he said, looking away from his phone, “Always in my business, telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.”

“You could always tell him to stop and mind his own business,” Damian said, raising an eyebrow.

“Could.” But won’t went unsaid. Tim kind of liked Paul showing interest in his life. It reminded him a lot of Dick. It was nice, having someone care. Tim had had so few people in his life actually care about him and his wellbeing, he didn’t want to push one away.

“I bet Paul would say buy a camera, too.”

Tim laughed. “You’re such a brat. What do you want for dinner?”

\---

“Drake,” Damian said as Tim pulled into the lot of the rental car return.

“Yeah?”

“This trip has been acceptable.”

Tim smiled. “Yeah. I had a good time.”

The holidays were never a big deal for Tim, but he was glad he’d taken the time off this year. Maybe next time he’d plan a bit more in advance and take the brat to Arizona. Or Nevada. Death Valley? Somewhere hot.

That could be fun.


	11. Four Months

December came faster than Tim wanted. Not only did it mean they’d been trapped there four months, but it meant that Christmas was right around the corner. Tim had no idea what to do for Christmas.

Santa Claus was supposed to visit children, right? Did Damian even believe in Santa? Yeah, probably not. That didn’t seem like something the League of Assassins allowed. He doubted they celebrated Christmas at all.

What’s worse was this was Damian’s first Christmas away from the League, so probably his first Christmas at all. The heck was Tim going to do?

The first Monday of the month, Tim was sifting through the emails he’d missed over the weekend when he opened one from an employee in accounting explaining that his cat had a litter of kittens a few months ago and the family wanted to adopt out the cats as fast as possible.

A cat.

Perfect.

A dog would be difficult to keep in an apartment. Especially a fourth-floor apartment. They required a lot of exercise and while the park was conveniently located, it would mean Tim or Damian taking the dog out multiple times a day. A cat, though. A cat could remain inside and be fine.

He replied to the email and secured one of the kittens for Damian. The man said he could stop by the following day at any time and his wife would give Tim the cat. Perfect.

Tim decided not to tell the brat what he was doing.

After spending every spare minute he had reading up on kitten care and watching youtube videos about everything related, Tim found himself being introduced to a litter of kittens at his coworker’s house in Brooklyn.

Tim sat on the floor with the kittens, at the suggestion of Martha, the wife. The cats were tabbies and there were four of them. Three cats had dark fur, almost black, and one had bright orange and white fur. Tim sat with them for a few minutes, letting each one come to him as they wanted. The only one that really seemed interested in him was the orange one.

“I think she likes you,” Martha said with a smile.

Tim put the cat in his lap and started scratching at its head. “I hope she likes my brother just as much.”

“Do you know how to care for a kitten?”

“I’ve done a lot of research, so I have a pretty good idea, but I’ve never done it. Damian knows how, though, and it will be his cat.”

The woman smiled and helped Tim get the kitten into the carrier. “Don’t hesitate to call if you have questions.”

Tim brought the cat home via the subway and quickly carried it into the apartment, hoping to get the kitten settled before Damian got back from school. He set the carrier down in his bedroom and shut the door before opening the carrier door. It took a few minutes, but eventually the kitten wandered out and began exploring her new surroundings.

He lay on the bed and did some telework for the remaining hours before Damian arrived home, keeping his eye on the kitten as it scurried around the room, climbing random things. Eventually, it found its way up on Tim’s bed and curled up next to him.

Around 3:30, Tim heard the front door unlock and knew his little brother was back at the apartment. Careful not to jostle the kitten, he hopped up and left his room, shutting the door back behind him so the cat wouldn’t escape.

“Hey, brat.”

Damian startled and turned to face Tim, pulling his headphones out. “Drake. What are you doing here?”

Tim shrugged. “I had some errands to run and decided to just finish out the day teleworking. How was school?”

The kid snorted as he opened the fridge to retrieve an apple. “It was school.”

“Got any homework?”

“Did it at school,” the child replied, hopping over the back of the couch to sit and turn on the TV.

“Okay, I’ll be in my room working if you need me.” Tim slipped into his room, careful not to let the cat out. To his surprise, the kitten was still lying on the bed, right where he’d left it.

Tim gave the kid twenty minutes to finish his snack and get engrossed in whatever show he picked out before slipping back out of the room. He held the cat in his hand, behind his back, just in case the brat turned around before Tim wanted him to see. Damian didn’t even look over, though.

Good.

He walked up behind the kid. The boy was sitting crisscross on the couch, playing with his phone and not paying attention to the TV. Tim repositioned the kitten and carefully dropped it right into Damian’s lap.

“Surprise,” Tim said as he did it. He bent over the couch so he could see the kid’s reaction.

The brat froze. For a moment, he was clearly startled, but then the shock was swiftly replaced by childlike wonder.

Damian gingerly lifted the kitten and cradled it in his arms. “Where did you find her?”

“She was the errand I was running earlier,” Tim explained, as he rounded the couch to sit next to Damian, putting one arm on the couch behind the boy. “A coworker’s cat had kittens, I offered to adopt one.”

“She’s yours?” Damian said tentatively, stroking the animal’s fur, “We’re keeping her?”

“Yes, but she’s _yours_. What’s her name?”

The boy smiled brightly and nearly giggled while he repositioned the cat. She seemed timid but wasn’t overly afraid. “I don’t know,” he said, “How old is she?”

Tim reached over to stroke the cat. “Just at twelve weeks.”

“We can really keep her?” Damian asked, then frowned, “What if Father comes?”

“Then we just bring her with us. No big deal.”

“But it is unwise to bring animals across country borders, especially between continents. I can only imagine it is worse to bring them across the multiverse.”

“We came here and didn’t get sick immediately, so it’s probably safe for the cat to come home with us without causing issues with your other pets, but we can quarantine her and test to make sure everything is good when we go home, okay?”

Damian nodded and hopped down off the couch to lie on the floor. Tim sat on the couch until dinner, working away on his laptop while Damian lay on the floor playing with his new kitten. The cat took right to Damian, never once straying away to bother Tim. Damian never stopped smiling.

“Drake,” Damian said before bringing the kitten to his room for the night.

Tim looked up from his computer and raised an eyebrow.

“Her name is Carrie.”

“I like it,” Tim said, nodding, “Good night Damian, Carrie.”

“Night, Drake.” Damian paused before shutting his door behind him and added, “Thank you.”

\----

Damian’s mood did not sour. Tim was kind of expecting the brat to have a mood swing and turn back into his normal self, but in the three days since he’d received Carrie, he’d been nothing but smiles.

His mood was rubbing off on Tim.

Maybe that’s how he had managed to make it half way through the fall parent-teacher conference without filling with absolute dread.

“He’s a very intelligent child,” Tim heard Ms. McClellan say, snapping him back to attention. He had tuned her out while she described some of the assignments the child had completed. Damian was right. 5th grade was very boring. “I’ve never had a child as smart as he is.”

Tim nodded, unsure how to respond. Of course Damian was smart. He was Bruce’s son.

“He’s at the top of the class. His grade point average is above 100% because he’s completed every extra credit assignment and has never turned in anything less than perfect.”

That wasn’t very surprising, either. While Tim still did not believe Damian was at a post-graduate level in any subject, he could buy late high school, or possibly college level when it came to English.

“Have you filled out his middle school application form?.”

“Oh,” Tim said, “his what?” He hadn’t been fully paying attention to the teacher, in all honesty, and he had never heard of a middle school application form. Damian was in public school. Weren’t public school kids just automatically enrolled in the middle school in their zone?

“They are due Monday. He said it was not necessary, that you two wouldn’t be in the city that long, but I don’t want him to lose his chance at a good school, just in case.”

Tim frowned. He thought Damian had accepted that they’d be there for a while. “What is the application form? He never mentioned it to me.”

“Of course he didn’t,” the teacher sighed, pulling out a folder from her desk, “it is a way for him to get into a better school than the one just assigned. I suggest doing your own research on the schools to decide, but if you want I can point out my recommendations. He’s smart. He deserves a good program.”

“He could stand to be challenged a bit,” Tim agreed, looking over the application. There were a lot of school choices. “I don’t want him skipping grades, though. He needs to socialize with kids his age.”

“I’d agree. He’s missed the deadline for applying for gifted schools, but you can still get him into a charter school, if you don’t like any of the options. I can email you some links and resources.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I guess I hadn’t even thought that far ahead.” And Tim hadn’t. He knew, in his head, they’d probably still be there next fall, but knowing and fully grasping were two completely different things.

Because holy shit.

Damian starting 6th grade would mean they had been there over a year.

Tim had to push aside all the panic that thought brought up to finish out the meeting.

“Okay, so, not fighting. Good grades. Middle school,” Tim said, summarizing the meeting so far, “Anything else?”

“I’m concerned he’s depressed.”

It took a lot of self-control for Tim to not just burst out laughing. The kid most certainly was depressed. Tim had been doing a lot of reading on childhood loss and trauma and he’d noticed Damian was definitely struggling through his grief. And not all of his issues were caused by being stranded in a new universe. No. That had just been the final straw in a long line of horrible things to happen to the boy.

“How do you figure?” Tim asked, instead of voicing his agreement.

“Well, he always seems down. Never interacts with his classmates. Rarely smiles. Hardly ever speaks, and when he does it’s usually rude or stand-offish. I understand he’s been through quite the ordeal. You both have, really, but I’m still worried.”

“He’s always been an ornery little brat, to be honest with you.” Tim paused, then sighed. “He’s getting better. Maybe you can’t see it, because you didn’t know him before, or he might not show it at school, but he is.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I can tell you care about the boy,” Ms. McClellan said with a small smile, “He did seem pretty upbeat on Wednesday when he showed me a picture of his new kitten.”

“That stupid cat has already cost me nearly $500, you know,” Tim said with a laugh. Carrie had been pretty expensive. Between all the supplies needed to care for her, the vet visit, and the curtains she’d already destroyed, the cost was piling up. With a nod, he added, “but it’s worth it.”

“You’re a good brother.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, standing to shake the teacher’s hand so he could leave, “and thanks for putting up with Damian.”

“Oh, he’s a good kid, I can tell,” Ms. McClellan said, leading Tim to the door, “You will be attending the Christmas concert next week, yes?”

Tim paused in the door, “The what now?”

“The concert. All the students in the school will be singing songs for the parents. Damian didn’t tell you? They’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“Nope. He didn’t mention it.” Of course the brat wouldn’t mention it. He probably thought it was ridiculous and a complete waste of time. The kid was likely too embarrassed to tell Tim about the childish show in which he was being forced to participate.

A video of Damian Wayne dressed up in a cute sweater singing _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_ was one Dick Grayson would kill to see. There was no way Tim was going to bypass this opportunity. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

\----

Tim spent the weekend doing extensive research on every single middle school option for Damian. He attempted to ask the boy for his opinion, but whenever Tim broached the subject he’d collect Carrie and either pout on the couch or retreat to his room.

Whatever. Tim could choose for Damian.

Maybe Damian was right, and it wouldn’t matter anyway. Tim really didn’t want to think about the possibility they’d be trapped together for a year. Four months had already felt like an eternity.

At some point, Tim set his laptop down on the coffee table so he could fix himself a cup of coffee. His eyes had been going cross and it was getting difficult to keep them open. The level at which Tim had thrown himself into the job of choosing a school for Damian was extremely reminiscent of his case work back in Gotham, which only made Tim’s chest ache, which caused him to focused more intensely on his task as a distraction. It was a horrible cycle and maybe a cup of coffee could fix the headache he had going.

When he came back into the living room, Tim found Damian sitting on the ground in front of his laptop, just staring at the screen. It took him a moment to register why the brat was focused so intently on the desktop. He’d recently changed the wallpaper to a photo of Bruce and Dick from one of their rare days out as a family, pre-Damian and Jason.

“Drake,” Damian said once he noticed Tim’s presence, “Where did you get this picture?”

“I took it,” Tim said simply, as he picked up the laptop to sit on the couch.

“When?” Damian asked, joining Tim on the couch, “Father and Grayson look younger.”

“Yeah, it’s a few years old. This was from before we met you and knew Jason was alive, when it was just the three of us.” Tim shrugged and pulled back up his browser, ready to continue with his research.

“Can-“ Damian stuttered, then tugged at the sleeves of his hoody.

“Can what?” Tim asked.

“Can you send me a copy?”

Tim smiled as he navigated to the folder where he kept the picture. “Yeah, sure.” He opened the folder, which had dozens of pictures and a handful of the family. These were his very favorite pictures.

“Thank you. I don’t-“ Damian paused, frowning, “I don’t have any pictures.”

“What?” Tim said abruptly. Damian didn’t have _any_ pictures? Tim had literally thousands of photos of their family. All of his favorites he’d stored copies of on his laptop, which translated to over four thousand photographs from the nearly ten years he’d been taking photos of the Wayne family.

Tim opened up his phone’s photos app and airdropped a handful of photographs of each of their family members. Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Jason. Heck, he even gave him pictures of Steph and Barbara for good measure.

Damian nodded his thanks at Tim before picking up Carrie and retreating to his room.

All Tim could do was stare blankly at the closed bedroom door.

Poor kid.

Tim looked around the apartment. It still didn’t feel like home. It had comfortable furniture, and was where they spent nearly all their downtime, but it still wasn’t home. It needed personal touches, and that would be easy to fix. The walls were still bare and Tim had thousands of photographs.

He knew exactly what to get the kid for Christmas.

\----

Tiffany Wyatt, secretary of their floor at RI, had a degree in photography and interior design. Tim still wasn’t sure why on earth the girl worked for Roberson Industries as a secretary if she wanted to do interior design, but then again that didn’t sound like a career that was easy to get started while still making enough to eat.

“Thanks for doing this so last minute, Tiff,” Tim said as he handed her a flash drive. Tiffany had agreed to decorate Tim’s apartment with his photos. All Tim had to do was pay her $150 and buy all the materials.

It saved Tim from having to do all the work. He had so many pictures, it was hard to narrow them down into just a few to feature on the walls. Even after weeding out every single picture that even hinted at their vigilante lifestyle or the fact that the boys were from another universe, Tim still had 723 pictures for Tiff.

“Last minute would have been asking me on the 15th. You’re good. I already know what size prints you need, all that’s left to do is pick the photographs and have them made.”

“Awesome, let me know when they’re done and I’ll figure out the game plan for sneaking them in past my brother. I don’t want him seeing any of them until Christmas morning.”

\----

“Drake,” Damian said, interrupting their quiet breakfast.

Tim took a sip of his coffee and asked, “Hm?”

“I am required to remain after school today. I will not be free to return here until 8pm.”

“Is that so?” Tim asked, finally looking away from the textbook he was reading.

Damian was pushing around the last pieces of pancakes around on his plate, avoiding Tim’s eyes. “Yes. It is for a project.”

Tim grinned. He knew that the Christmas concert was that evening at 7pm. The fact Damian was avoiding telling Tim about it made him even more excited about it. How red would Damian turn when he finally saw Tim in the crowd? “Okay. So, I need to pick you up at 8?”

“That will not be necessary. I can walk.”

Yeah, that wasn’t happening. But there was no reason to argue about it. Damian wouldn’t be walking back alone, regardless, because Tim would be attending the concert. Tim nodded and turned back to reading about the War of 1812 for his American History class.

They didn’t talk about it again.

Tim walked the brat to school, just like he did every morning. Before, it had always been a silent walk and Tim would spend it listening to one of his podcasts. Lately, though, Damian chatted Tim’s ear off about whatever topic pleased him. Half of the mornings since bringing Carrie to the apartment, the topic had been cats.

That morning, Damian spent the 20-minute walk enlightening Tim on the advancement of costal artillery during the 19th century. He still wasn’t entirely sure how they had come upon the topic. Somehow, Damian had connected it to the War of 1812. It kind of made Tim feel like his brains were going to melt and leak out of his ears, but at least the little demon was doing better. He might not have been exactly happy, but he wasn’t miserable anymore, either.

Hopefully crashing the kid’s concert wouldn’t ruin the truce they had going.

\----

Tim arrived at the school auditorium twenty minutes early to discover half the seats were already taken. Originally, he had wanted to sit front and center, for maximum shock value. As the day went on, however, Tim realized he didn’t want to embarrass Damian too badly.

After debating with himself for several minutes, Tim chose a seat in the dead center of the auditorium. He hoped to blend in with the rest of the crowd so he could observe the brat as he was when he thought none of the batfamily was watching. Maybe he could catch the kid being an actual kid.

The show was cute.

Kind of boring.

Okay. Very boring.

Each grade sang a couple winter-themed songs for the audience, staring with the younger kids. Meaning Damian, being in the oldest grade in the school, was up last. Tim had to sit through over 300 kids singing stupid songs out of tune.

But then the fifth grade walked out on stage, and suddenly the entire night was worth it. The 10 and 11-year-olds were all wearing elf hats and sang _Jingle Bell Rock_ and _Winter Wonderland_.

Tim recorded the entire thing on his phone while he watched Damian.

He had been expecting Damian to scowl the entire time while he pouted and refused to sing. If anything, the kid would sing but very angrily.

That wasn’t the case.

Damian looked like he was taking it very seriously. Like. Very, very seriously. He was actually enjoying himself up on stage.

It just made Tim’s grin grow wider. He couldn’t _wait_ for the kid to find out he’d watched.

The kid had been so focused on his performance, he never noticed Tim in the crowd, which meant Tim had to hurry to the gym to catch the child before he could leave and start walking back to the apartment alone.

It only took a second for Tim to locate where the fifth graders were in the gym, which was being used as the parent pick up area. He swiftly walked over to where the kids were standing around, chatting, and saw Damian speaking with his teacher.

“-okay. Timothy said I could walk home alone this morning,” Damian was saying, his back turned to Tim.

Ms. McClellan looked both worried and exasperated with Damian. “I’m sorry, Damian, but I can’t allow that.”

“I do not see how that is your call,” Damian said, “Timothy has already granted permission.”

The teacher opened her mouth to respond, but noticed Tim approaching before she did. She gave a tired smile to the teen as he finally reached the pair. “Timothy, huh?” he said, once he did.

Damian jumped and spun around. “Drake. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, come on. You just called me Timothy. Tim is even shorter. Easier to say. Come on, say it with me: 'Tim,'” he said, saying his nickname slowly to tease the child.

The child scowled. “I thought we agreed I would walk back to the apartment tonight and meet you there.”

“Yeah, no you said you’d do that and I just chose not to argue, since I was gonna be here anyway.” Tim motioned toward the door with his head as he turned to leave.

Damian hesitated for a moment before falling in step. “You came to the show?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course I came to the show.”

Tim took pleasure in the fact Damian’s face turned bright red.

“Hey, your face matches your hat,” Tim teased as he opened the door for them to exit the school.

Damian quickly snatched the hat off and shoved it into his coat pocket. “I hate you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. You looked like you were enjoying yourself up there.”

“I can’t believe you attended this pathetic excuse for a show,” Damian pouted, “It was a required activity I was unable to avoid. There was no need for you to see the amateur performance.”

“I liked it. The other children were pretty bad, but the fifth grade did a good job.”

“Tt,” Damian clicked as he pursed his lips and looked away, “You have terrible taste in entertainment, then.”

Tim grinned wider. “Oh, please. I saw you smile. You were enjoying yourself up there.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gra-.’ Damian stopped walking while his face sobered. Tim walked a couple more steps before also pausing to look back at the boy. After a moment, Damian completed the sentence with a very quiet, “Drake.”

They walked for a couple more minutes in silence, Tim thinking over the implications of Damian almost calling him “Grayson.” Their banter had been so familiar to the kid he slipped right into the pattern he and Dick had had.

Tim had no idea he and Damian had been close enough that Damian could possibly forget he wasn’t Dick. Dick was Damian’s best friend. His favorite brother. His guardian and father-figure. The only person in his life that cared… Oh.

Oh.

That was Tim now, wasn’t it?

With a sad smile, Tim wrapped an arm around Damian, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I didn’t,” Damian said, his tone flat, “Stop insisting that I did.” The boy shrugged his shoulders in a feigned attempt to push Tim away.

Tim just pulled him in a bit tighter and laughed. “You’re my favorite.”

Damian scrunched his eyebrows and looked up at Tim with curious confusion on his face.

“What?” Tim asked.

“That makes no sense. I’m your favorite what?”

Tim shrugged. “Person?”

“ _I’m_ your favorite person?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, why not?” the teen replied, smiling.

Damian looked straight ahead, and Tim could practically hear the kid’s gears turning. See the thoughts bouncing around in his head. The insecurities and quick explanations bubbling up to attack Tim’s words, destroy the meaning, ruin the sentiment. Drag Damian back down into the deep pits of depression he’d been escaping as of late.

“Hey don’t over think it,” Tim said, shifting his arm to pull the boy in for a loose hug by his neck, “It just means I love you.”

A sharp intake of breath and sudden stiffening of Damian’s body hurt Tim more than he thought it would. “Oh,” Damian whispered.

Tim hummed and moved his arm back to the kid’s shoulder, releasing him from the hug. He sucked at the emotions thing. He’s better than Bruce, that’s for sure, but not nearly as good as Dick. Damian, of course, was like his father. Bruce Wayne mixed with 10 years of League of Assassins conditioning. So maybe… maybe what Tim could offer was enough.

After a while, Tim spoke up. “You know Bruce can sing?”

“Really?” Damian looked back at Tim, finally, with a hint of delight twinkling in his eyes.

“Yeah. He doesn’t do it often, but he’s really good. You certainly take after him.”

“Tt. Of course. He is my father.”

\----

Tiff finished printing the photos she’d selected from Tim’s flash drive. She delivered them to the apartment in the middle of the night a few days before Christmas and Tim helped her sneak them into his bedroom. Damian never entered the teen’s room, so Tim wasn’t concerned he’d discover his gift too soon. The real challenge was going to be hanging everything Christmas Eve without the brat finding out.

The apartment hadn’t been decorated for Christmas. It wasn’t a conscious decision Tim had made or anything, he just never got around to doing it and Damian never requested it be done. Each day Tim had thought ‘tomorrow we’ll go get a tree,’ and every time tomorrow came around, he’d got caught up in something else and decided to put it off again.

Suddenly, it was Christmas Eve and it was too late.

The boys spent the day as they did most lazy days. Sitting around, doing their own things. Tim played games on his laptop while Damian played with his cat or read a book. After dinner, they watched a movie together before Damian retired for the night.

Neither of them mentioned how Christmas was the next day.

Tim did not forget, though.

After he was sure Damian was asleep, he put a blanket on the ground outside the boy’s door, so the light from the living room wouldn’t seep into the bedroom and tip Damian off to what was going on outside. Then, he began staging the common areas with the photos Tiff had printed and framed for him.

He followed the plan Tiff had written, since she’d made each print for a specific spot in the apartment. There were nearly 30 frames that had to be placed. Most were easy to figure out where to put, but the collage of twelve smaller frames were more difficult to center on the wall.

It took him four hours. Four hours of placing and replacing command strips until each photo was hung and level. Then, he had another dozen smaller frames to set out on the bookshelves and end tables. It was ridiculous how much he fussed with each frame.

Eventually, though, he finished and took a look around. All Tim wanted to do was lay on the couch and stare at the photos. Finally, after four months, their apartment was complete.

It was perfect.

It was home.

All around him were photographs of their family, most candid. Bruce reading the paper. Alfred cooking. Dick doing a handstand. Jason flipping the bird. Damian meditating. Bruce and Dick playing chess. Jason and Dick chatting, Dick mid laugh while Jason rolled his eyes. Damian and Jason admiring a sword. Damian and Titus playing fetch.

Tim wasn’t in many, simply because he was always the photographer, but there were a couple pictures scattered about that included Tim. One Steph had taken while he grinned goofily at the camera she’d stolen, and another of him sitting on the couch between Dick and Bruce, too engrossed in a movie to notice the camera.

Reluctantly, Tim cut the lights back off and returned the blanket he’d thrown on the ground outside the brat’s room back on the couch. As excited as he was to show Damian, it would be better for them both if he just let the kid sleep the night before waking him up.

\----

Morning didn’t come soon enough. The second his clock flipped to 6am, Tim decided he had waited long enough and rushed out of his bedroom to start the day. He’d decided to make French toast for breakfast and hoped he could get it done before the brat woke up and came out of his room.

Luckily, he did.

Tim set the food out on the island, ready for them to eat, and happily sauntered over to the kid’s door. “Hey brat, wake up,” he said, knocking at the door.

“Drake,” Damian whined, “go away. It is not even 7.”

“It’s Christmas. You have to come out to see if Santa visited.”

Damian groaned loudly and threw something at the door. “Leave me alone.”

“Get up, you little gremlin. I made breakfast and everything.”

Tim waited a minute, listening for movement in the kid’s room. Eventually, the brat did get out of bed and walked over toward the door. Tim took a step back as excitement bubbled up inside him. He couldn’t wait to see the demon’s reaction.

The door swung open and a disheveled looking Damian glared at Tim.

“Mornin’,” Tim said, grinning wide.

Damian rubbed his eyes and stepped past the teen. “What is wrong with your face, Drake?”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Is that why you have woken me? Because of a ridiculous holiday celebrating a fat pedophile breaking and entering?”

“Uh,” Tim said, unsure how to respond to that description of Santa Claus. “I’m pretty sure it’s celebrating the birth of Jesus, but yes.”

“What’s the-“ Damian paused as his eyes finally caught one of the pictures.

Tim stood in nervous excitement as he watched the child slowly walk around the apartment, inspecting every new picture. The longer Damian was silent, the more worried Tim became. What if it was the wrong thing to do? Would seeing the family he missed, the family he was mourning everyday just upset him? Would this push him further into his depression? Ruin all the progress they’d made over the past month?

“How many pictures do you have?” Damian asked, his voice small and shaky.

Tim gave a small smile and took a seat on the couch, motioning for Damian to do the same. “A lot. Here’s the rest of my gift,” he said, picking up an envelope and flash drive from the coffee table.

Damian accepted both items and looked back up at Tim, all the child’s emotions carefully hidden behind his impenetrable walls. “What are these?”

“The flash drive is a copy of every photograph I have of the family. About half of them are from our nightly activities. I couldn’t put those on the walls in case we ever have visitors, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have them.”

Damian nodded and clutched the device in his hands.

“And the envelope contains some of my favorite pictures that we couldn’t hang, but I really wanted you to have.”

“Oh,” the kid said as he set the flash drive down to open the envelope. Inside, Tim had put a dozen 3x5 prints he’d printed himself at home.

Damian flipped through the photographs. Some were of the family in the cave discussing cases, sometimes with masks on, sometimes without masks. A couple were of Damian training with Bruce or Dick. The final two, however, were the ones Tim knew Damian would love.

The first was of Damian and Dick sitting on a roof during their run as Batman and Robin. It was one of the many nights Batman had bought Robin ice cream, for God knows why. Well, Damian probably knew why, actually. Whatever issue had Damian moping, though, was forgotten with the ice cream cone. In the picture, Dick was telling some grand story, complete with exaggerated hand motions while he clearly slung his cone around haphazardly, and Damian was trying to hide his smile as he ate his treat. It was a strange sight, seeing Batman act like that. A nice change from the emotionless brooding of Bruce. That was why Tim had taken the picture. He wanted to remember Dick’s Batman when Bruce finally returned.

Damian’s hand shook as he gingerly touched the surface of the photograph. “How did you even get this picture,” he whispered.

Tim shrugged. “I came across you guys on patrol and just took it.”

With a deep breath, Damian flipped to the final photograph and froze. It was Tim’s absolute favorite due to how candid and genuine the emotions were. In the photo was Damian sitting at the batcomputer typing away at something, completely lost in his work. Beside him was Bruce in uniform with his cowl pulled back. On his face was an expression that can only be described as uncontainable pride as he looked down at Damian. So much love and warmth could be felt just by looking at the picture. It radiated off in the way Bruce’s lips were twitched into a nearly invisible smile. In the way his eyes wrinkled. In how his body language was relaxed. In how he clearly never wanted to look away from his son for the rest of his life.

Tim wished Bruce would look at Damian like that when the child was looking.

He wished Bruce would look at him like that.

Before Tim could process what was happening, Damian flung himself at Tim. He buried his face in Tim’s shirt and began weeping.

Shit.

Shit shit shit. Damian was crying.

He wrapped his arms around the boy, completely lost.

Damian never cried. Ever. Never ever.

“Hey,” Tim said, choking up on his own emotions, “what’s wrong?”

The child buried his head in deeper and grabbed a fist of Tim’s shirt, so Tim just held tighter while he waited for the kid to calm down. Giving Damian the pictures was the wrong decision, wasn’t it?

“I miss them so much,” Damian sniffed when he finally turned out to face the world. Surprisingly, he didn’t pull away from Tim’s hug, so Tim didn’t let go either.

“I do, too,” Tim admitted as he rubbed Damian’s back. “Were- Were the pictures too much?”

“No. They were perfect. Thank you.”

Tim nodded. “You’re my favorite, Damian.”

\----

Paul invited the boys over for Christmas dinner, which actually meant lunch, apparently. Around noon, Tim and Damian walked to the man’s apartment carrying a box of cookies they’d made after breakfast.

If Alfred had taught them anything, it was to always bring something when invited over for formal dinners. Wine would be the true appropriate gift, but Tim wasn’t old enough to purchase wine and he didn’t want to face his boss’s wrath by showing up with some.

“Tim,” Paul cheered when he answered the door, “Come in. You must be Damian, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Tt,” Damian clicked, before looking sheepishly at Tim and adding, “you as well, sir.”

Paul introduced the boys to his wife, Laura, and daughters, Hadley and Molly. Hadley was apparently 15 and a sophomore in high school and Molly was ten and in the 5th grade. She was overjoyed to learn Damian was also ten and had been very excited that Tim and Damian were coming over for dinner because of it.

Dinner passed by rather uneventfully. Damian handled Molly sitting next to him and chatting his ear off remarkably well. He occasionally rolled his eyes or shot Tim withering glares for forcing him through the indignity of pretending to be a normal child, but otherwise behaved.

Once everyone had finished eating, Tim heard Molly ask, “I got a Nintendo Switch for Christmas. Want to play it with me?”

Tim grinned at the pleading look Damian sent his way before he said, “Go on. Sounds like fun.”

“I hate you,” Damian muttered as he stood to follow Molly to her bedroom.

“He is adorable,” Laura said once Damian was out of earshot, “trying to act all cool and mature for his older brother.”

“Oh, that’s not an act,” Tim said flippantly, “His teacher says he doesn’t play with the kids at school, either.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Paul said cautiously, “but are you two half-brothers or something? You look absolutely nothing alike.”

Tim shrugged. “I was adopted.”

No one responded immediately, and Tim got a bit self-conscious. He couldn’t identify the expression on Paul’s face, and really wanted to shift topics. Did it actually matter that he and Damian weren’t related by blood?

Sure, they’d only know each other a bit over a year, but they were still brothers, and Tim thought he was doing pretty okay taking care of Damian. The brat had food, clothes, shelter, a stupid cat, and was going to school. He even smiled sometimes.

Back in Gotham, there was an entire segment of the upper-class who did not consider Tim or any of the adopted children to be Bruce’s heirs. Not his true heirs, at least. Damian was the son, and Tim was the ‘adopted one.’ He at least had the advantage of having been from the same circles as the Waynes, but Dick and Jason were looked down on even more than him.

It didn’t matter, though. No one’s opinion mattered. They were a family. They were all Bruce’s sons. Tim still loved them all as brothers.

Dick would be proud of his thoughts.

“I can’t imagine,” Laura finally said, “Hadley and Molly suddenly being alone and looking out for each other. Paul brags about how great of a kid you are, and I have to agree with him.”

Tim blinked. He hated how much Paul referred to him as kid. He was probably the only person at RI Tim would allow get away with it. “Well, I’m 18, but thanks.”

Laura smiled and allowed to topic to drop. After a couple hours of chatting, Molly and Damian reappeared in the living room, the former sporting a blinding smile and the latter scowling. Tim had learned that this particular scowl was one he put on when trying to hide pleasure.

Tim collected their coats and hats and thanked the Blackwells for a lovely Christmas dinner. It wasn’t dinner with Bruce and Alfred and whatever assortment of batkids attended that year, but it was the closest thing to family they’d get in this world. It was good friends.

“Did you and Molly have fun?” Tim asked as they trekked across Manhattan in the fresh snow.

Damian gave a brief smile before burring his head further down into his scarf. “The time was not unpleasant.”

“Paul said you could go over whenever you wanted to play with Molly.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Drake, I am too old for playdates.”

“Maybe,” Tim said, “but not too old for friends.”


	12. Bruce

Bruce hated to admit it, but Red Hood’s methods worked. When he and Arsenal confronted Dubois in the hospital, putting a couple arrows in his extremities ‘ _because bullets would have been too loud, B, come on we aren’t amateurs,_ ’ they successfully got the names of all four other accomplices.

Luckily, Barbara was able to track down all four. To prevent the others from going to ground, Bruce decided to have each of the vigilantes currently working on the case split up, each of them taking their own suspect. He was still wary of letting Jason help, and even warier of letting Roy Harper go solo when he'd had so little experience working with the young man, but with the two Robins missing, he was short on options.

He could always call in the Justice League, but doing so would reveal his identity to everyone. All those who mattered already knew who they all were, so that wasn’t what he was concerned about. It was the general public. It made perfect sense for Batman to investigate the kidnapping of the two kids of a prominent Gothamite. But for Batman to call in the Justice League? He never did that, not even during the more serious threats to the city, so how could he justify it for a simple kidnapping?

He couldn’t. So Arsenal and Red Hood would have to do. For now.

So, at just past 3am, all three young men positioned themselves outside their assigned target’s location, waiting for the signal from Batman to go.

“No killing,” Batman growled as a final warning to the two youngest members of the team, “I mean it. One step out of line and-”

 _“Yeah, yeah, got it,”_ Jason dismissed, his voice annoyed, _”and no blowing stuff up. You were quite clear about how unfun this mission was to be. Ready on your signal.”_

Bruce sighed and asked, “Nightwing, Arsenal, ready?”

Both men answered in the affirmative, so Bruce gave the order to go.

It was quick work, breaking into the apartment of whom they assumed was the leader of the group. Bruce was silent in his approach, slipping through the window and into the bedroom where the man, thankfully, lived alone. Batman liked to scare criminals. Not the innocent families of criminals.

The man, named Richard Holt, and really it was a shame Dick shared a name with this man, jumped hard when he noticed Bruce.

“Fuck,” he panted, reaching under his pillow for what Bruce assumed was a weapon, “You really do just appear, dontcha?”

Without thinking and while the man was still talking, Batman closed the distance between the two, took hold of the man’s arm, and pulled the gun from his hand, long before he could even point it at Batman.

Bruce grabbed Holt’s shirt collar and lifted him in the air, slamming him into the wall beside the bed. “You are going to tell me where those two boys are,” he growled, using the roughest voice he could muster. It usually had criminals shitting themselves.

Holt though? He _laughed_. “Of course Bruce Wayne's got ya looking for them. Probably paying you a pretty penny, too, huh?”

“Where are they?” Batman demanded, slamming Holt into the wall once more. Strangely, the man wasn’t even fighting. He was just allowing Batman to throw him around.

The man grunted, then grinned, “You’ll kill me before I tell you.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes and eyed the gun he had tossed onto the bed. “That is not the weapon you fired at the Wayne boys,” he observed aloud.

“Wow, you really are the world’s greatest detective,” the man drawled.

Bruce let his eyes scan the remainder of the room until he zeroed in on a box sitting on top of the dresser. Based on how Holt tensed in his arm when he spotted the box, he was willing to bet money that was where the weapon was hiding.

“You’ll never find them,” Holt said in an obvious attempt to derail Batman’s train of thought, “They’re gone and you’ll never find them.”

Batman’s head snapped back to glare at Holt, “What does that mean? What did you do to them?” he growled, ready to punch him in the face until he was no longer recognizable as a person.

“It means they’re gone,” he said, grinning victoriously.

At that, Bruce grabbed his hand and broke a finger, “If I were you, I’d rethink my words,” he warned, getting a grip on another finger.

Holt groaned in pain, then forced his smile back. “Break ‘em all. It was worth it to make that SOB Wayne feel what the rest of us feel. I could see how much he loved those boys-”

Bruce snapped another finger, eliciting another cry of pain from the man. “Where are they?” he demanded again.

The dirtbag continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “just like I loved my boys. But then Gotham stole them. Gotham is a curse. Wayne talks about it like it’s this great city, like he loves the city, but he doesn’t understand it. Now he does. Maybe now he’ll do something about it.”

Bruce roared as he snapped the man’s hand, then slammed him into the wall hard enough to knock him out.

“Status report,” he demanded into his com after tying the man up so he could explore the apartment.

 _“Suspect apprehended,”_ Nightwing said cheerfully.

Bruce approached the dresser and broke the lock on the box sitting on top. He opened the lid and peeked inside.

 _“Working on it,”_ Arsenal answered, his labored breathing suggesting he was in the middle of a fight.

Inside the box was a gun-like device, which was more than likely the pixelated device they saw in the security cam footage.

 _“Scumbag entirely unhelpful,”_ Jason quipped, _“says the boys are ‘gone’ but won’t tell me where to.”_

The gun had a dozen buttons on it, though, and didn’t appear to shoot out any sort of projectile. A laser gun? Ray gun? Was this alien tech? How did a street-level criminal get his hands on something like this, and what did the gun even do?

 _“Mine, too,”_ Arsenal chimed in, his voice calmer as his breathing had evened out. He must have brought the guy down.

“Bring in GCPD for pick up," Batman said, "I think I’ve found something. Rendezvous at the cave.”

Bruce wrapped the weapon in a cloth and tucked it into his belt. After radioing for pickup, he made his way back to the cave. They had a lot of research to do ahead of them. If none of the men were going to be helpful, they’d just have to track the boys down themselves.  They could start by studying the gun.  Perhaps it could help identify additional accomplices, because it had to come from  _somewhere._ Then perhaps the accomplice could lead to where the boys were being hidden.

He refused to believe they were dead.


	13. Six Months

Time continued to move forward, and there was still no sign of Bruce or anyone coming to their rescue. Tim started his second semester of college and made a plan with his advisor to graduate the following spring. If they were still around the next academic year, Tim would finally get to take in person science classes and hopefully start working through the science behind the multiverse.

Damian turned 11 on a relatively uneventful Monday in January. He and Tim celebrated the day the Saturday before with cake and a day out. Even though the boy pointed out he had turned 11 over a month before, due to the weird time jump between the two multiverses, he was still fine with celebrating. Birthdays were never something either boy celebrated heavily, so a quiet Saturday was more than enough for both of them.

The six-month mark came and went with barely a mention from either brother. Neither wanted to think too hard about it. They were a bit distracted, anyway.

Tim usually got home from work around 6:30. Upon arriving back at the apartment, he’d immediately begin fixing dinner while Damian sat at the island. Occasionally, the brat would actually help, but usually he just sat there reading and carrying on a conversation. Tim didn’t mind. He really liked the progress their relationship had made in the six months since moving to NYC. If only Dick could see them.

A knock at the door half way through preparing dinner startled Tim and Damian out of their conversation about a recent hacking attempt Tim had thwarted at work. It wasn’t nearly as interesting as Tim was making it out to be, but it had been so long since either he or Damian had done anything close to exciting, with the Robins being grounded, it was still worth talking about.

“Keep stirring this,” Tim instructed as he passed the spoon for the sauce over to Damian, “it’ll burn if you let it sit still.”

Damian hopped off the bar stool and took the offered spoon, “Sure.”

Tim looked through the peephole on the front door and saw a woman dressed in a skirt and blazer staring at the door, a clipboard in hand. Odd. How’d she get past the building’s security? He opened the door and gave her the best smile he could muster. “Can I help you?”

“Tim Wagner?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Why did Tim feel so judged? “Yeah, that’s me. Who are you?”

“I’m Cynthia Phillips with Child Protective Services.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Tim thought they’d dodged this bullet when no one ever came after Damian jumped him with a knife way back in August.

“Uh,” Tim hesitated, “hi. How can I help you?”

The woman, Ms. Phillips, glared at Tim. The teen felt like she was looking straight through to his soul and judging his every life choice. “Our office received a report about you and your brother and I am required to make a house visit.”

“Right.” Tim looked over at Damian, who was out of view from the woman. Damian raised an eyebrow and continued stirring the sauce. “Um, would you like to come in, then?”

“Yes. I will need to speak with the child, as well.”

“Sure,” Tim said, opening the door all the way and stepping aside so she could enter, “we were just making dinner. Would you like some? There’ll be plenty for all of us.” He shut the door behind her and made his way back into the kitchen.

“You allow an 11-year-old to use the stove unassisted?”

Irritation spiked in Tim as he took the spoon back from Damian. “He was just stirring the sauce while I answered the door.” Besides, Damian was plenty old enough to use a stove without hurting himself. Tim had been using the stove for years by the time he was 11.

“Who even are you?” Damian demanded.

“I am Cynthia Phillips with Child Protective Services.”

“And you came all this way to protect me from marinara sauce?”

“Damian,” Tim warned as he removed the sauce from the heat and checked on the fake chicken he had baking. He had wanted some chicken parmesan but knew the brat would pitch a royal fit over it, so he had found a recipe for it using a bean patty instead of meat.

“I came because my office received a report from the NYPD about possible mistreatment. I am doing a follow up.”

Tim dropped some spaghetti into the boiling water.

“That happened months ago, and even the police agreed it had been a misunderstanding. I started an altercation with Timothy, he did nothing to me. We have not had any fights since.”

“Hmm,” the woman hummed before turning a critical eye on Tim, “May I speak to him in private?”

“Sure,” Tim said, as a pit began to form in his stomach, “I’ll be here finishing up dinner.” Whether he’d be able to eat said dinner when it was finished, he wasn’t sure.

Damian and the social worker disappeared into the kid’s room, closing the door behind them.

Tim stirred the pasta more than was necessary, glad for the distraction. He didn’t want to worry over whatever the two were discussing behind the closed door. Damian was fine in his care. Everything was going well. He was fed. Clothed. Sheltered. That was everything kids needed, right? Tim even gave the kid attention, which was way more than he’d ever received as a child. Damian was perfectly fine in his house.

A beeping sound startled Tim from his aggressive stirring of the boiling pasta. He realized it was the kitchen timer and pulled the ‘chicken’ out of the oven. The pasta needed just a minute longer before it could be drained and dinner would be ready.

The bedroom door swung open violently and Damian stormed out shouting, “Do not patronize me, woman.”

“Honey, I’m not trying to-“

“I said no. Our conversation is over,” Damian snapped as he took a seat at the counter.

Tim drained the pasta and scooped it out onto three plates, trying to ignore the conversation. He set the bean patties on top of the spaghetti, followed by a scoop of marinara sauce and cheese.

Ms. Phillips frowned once she reached the island. “Just think about what we talked about.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Tim said carefully. He wasn’t completely sure he knew what they were talking about, but he had a horrible suspicion it was about putting Damian in foster care.

Damian scowled at the woman before turning to stare at Tim. Or rather, at Tim’s chest. He handed his little brother a fork and instead of meeting his eyes, Damian turned his gaze further down to inspect his plate.

Okay then.

When Tim set the third plate down for the social worker, she shook her head, “No thank you, Mr. Wagner. May I speak to you in the hall for a moment?”

 _I don’t know. Damian is sitting on a bar stool, are you sure it’s safe to leave him sitting so high up without supervision?_ Tim forced a tight smile and followed the woman.

Once they reached the hall, Tim stated simply, “He’s fine here.”

“I’m not entirely convinced he is,” she sighed, “You are awfully young to be caring for a child.”

“People younger than me have children of their own,” Tim pointed out. It was true. It was even true bringing Tim’s real age into account. He knew girls who had gotten pregnant at 14.

“That is not the point, and usually those children have a support system around them to help them care for the baby.”

“So, you don’t like me because I’m an orphan,” Tim said.

The woman bristled and Tim held his face impassive. He wanted nothing more than to smile victoriously. It was fun pushing people like this. “No, that’s not it,” she said hastily.

“Then what is it? Because I’m not seeing what’s so bad about Damian’s living situation. He’s well cared for. I have a good job, am getting a college degree, and am providing him everything he needs. He’s happy and safe here. Don’t you have more important cases involving children actually being abused?”

“I have proof of none of that, Mr. Wagner. Damian’s-“

“I can get you proof of enrollment and employment, if that’s what you want,” Tim interrupted, “Hell, I bet my boss would be glad to write a damn recommendation letter, if that would satisfy you. He knows all about Damian and me.”

Ms. Phillips shot Tim a glare for the interruption, then said, “I will be conducting interviews of those around you two, don’t worry about that. I meant I have no proof of Damian’s safety and happiness. He seems awfully standoffish and bristly for a happy 11-year-old.”

“That’s just Damian,” Tim dismissed, “He’s always been like that. It’s when he’s not ‘bristly’ that you have to worry.”

“The fact you don’t see it as a problem is concerning.”

“You can’t take him based off his personality,” Tim said wryly. “I won’t let you take him, period.”

Ms. Phillips narrowed her eyes at Tim, “That’s not really your decision. How long have you even known Damian? You aren’t related biologically.”

“How the hell is that even relevant?” Tim exploded, “Are you seriously telling me that _blood_ is the only thing that makes family? You are in the wrong fucking career if you believe that.”

“It’s a factor that must be considered.”

“He’s my brother and that’s all that matters,” Tim snapped, “You’ll have to take me to court. You don’t have the authority to take him tonight. You can’t just walk in here and take him based off a five-month-old report to the police that turned up no evidence of wrongdoing and your idiotic idea that an orphan twice over can’t possibly care about an adopted brother. If you actually cared about Damian’s wellbeing you would have showed up five months ago, anyway.”

“Young man, I do not appreciate your tone. Our office is swamped with reports. We can’t respond to every one as quickly as we would like.”

“I’m so glad Child Protective Services is doing so much to protect the children of New York.”

“Mr. Wagner, you are not helping your case by behaving like a mouthy teenager.”

Tim saw red. This woman had made a snap judgement about him based off a case file. She had made a decision before even meeting Tim or Damian, before ever stepping foot in the apartment. She was looking at him as a child, incapable of caring for anyone, despite all evidence to the contrary.

She was acting like he was the one who wasn’t capable of behaving like a rational adult. And, yes, Tim wasn’t even 17 yet, but he’d been doing perfectly fine caring for Damian. The damn brat wasn’t dead yet and hadn’t been sneaking out at night to fight crime. Neither Bruce nor Dick had accomplished that feat, and Damian was related to Bruce by blood, since apparently that mattered. And, he loved Dick, and yet still didn’t listen to him as well as he had been Tim. So, take that stupid social worker. Tim was doing better than Dick fucking Grayson.

Swallowing his rage, Tim turned his gaze cold and said evenly, “I wouldn’t be so mouthy if you had given us a chance in the first place.”

Ms. Phillips hesitated before returning the gaze, “I have given you a chance.”

“No. You made up your mind before even knocking on our door.”

“Mr. Wagner,” the social worker said calmly, “The fact is this is not an ideal situation. You are awfully young and Damian needs stability.”

“I have given him stability,” Tim shot back. Damian had been passed around so much in his 11 years of life, it was very possible that this was the longest he’d ever lived with the same person acting as his primary guardian. As a kid he always had caretakers, and from what broken little stories Tim had heard from Dick and Bruce, he never had the same caretakers for long.

“I own this apartment,” Tim continued, “I have a good job. I’m in college. Damian goes to school, makes good grades, and is doing as well as a kid who just lost his entire family six months ago can be doing. I don’t see how ripping him away from his last living relative and forcing him to live with total strangers is going to help him. I thought the goal of CPS was to keep families together when possible.”

“When possible, yes that is our goal, but a child’s safety is always put before the family unit.”

“Damian is safe here,” Tim insisted.

“I’m having trouble believing that. You seem to have a temper, and you’ve already had the police called on you once. Apparently, a knife was involved in that altercation, as well.”

“And the police report and Damian have both told you what occurred during that incident. Damian pulled the knife on _me_ , which, by the way, was something he did often before I gained custody of him. He hasn’t done it since the police showed up that one time. The little punk actually _apologized_ for doing it, too.”

“Mr. Wagner,” the social worker began.

“No. I don’t want to hear it. I’m done with this conversation. You can’t have him. ‘You’re 18’ isn’t an acceptable argument for why he can’t live with me.” Tim opened the front door and moved to walk back inside, fully intending on slamming the door in the woman’s face.

Ms. Phillips huffed, “I will be completing a full investigation on this placement.”

“Good for you,” Tim said before shutting and locking the door. “What a fucking bitch,” Tim mumbled, then asked Damian louder, “Do you think there’s a way to request a new case worker?”

Damian didn’t answer, but rather just stared blankly at Tim. The teen could see dozens of questions and thoughts swirling around in the boy’s gaze, but none were being voiced by the child.

“You okay, kid?”

“Why did you do that?” Damian eventually asked, turning back to his dinner to continue eating.

“Uh, kick her out?“ Tim asked as he walked back to the island to see if his own dinner was still edible, “She was a bitch.” He put a bite of the bean meat crap in his mouth and resisted the urge to spit it out like a defiant 4-year-old. God, Tim hated meat substitutes. “Ugh, this is cold. I’m gonna nuke it. Want me to reheat yours, too?”

Damian shook his head and took another bite of pasta. “No, it’s fine.”

Tim hummed his acknowledgment and put 30 seconds on the microwave. “So, want to watch a movie tonight or something?”

“Not particularly.”

The chickpea patty didn’t taste any better warm. “We can even make popcorn to go with it. It’ll be fun.”

Damian took one more hasty bite of his meal before standing, “I am going to retire to my room for the night. I have a science test for which I need to study.”

“Oh,” Tim said, nodding, “Sure. Okay.”

He watched as the child picked up Carrie from where she had been chilling on the back of the couch and went to his room.

For the first time in months, Tim finished dinner alone in a quiet apartment. He was never alone in the apartment. Damian was always there, sometimes to the point of annoying Tim.

They spent every evening together, usually doing their own things, but in the same room. If Damian ever had to do work for school, he’d do it at the counter while Tim cooked, or on the couch while Tim did his own schoolwork.

After putting away their left overs, which, gross, Tim was not looking forward to left over bean crap at work tomorrow, he started on his schoolwork and tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest. He’d spent most of his life alone, between his parents leaving him to his own devices for months at a time and being emancipated at fifteen. He was used to the feeling, but it was not a feeling he missed.

\----

Tim quietly sipped his coffee while picking at the oatmeal he’d made for breakfast. It was fifteen minutes until they had to leave for school and work and Damian still hadn’t come out for breakfast. Tim knew he was awake. He had already showered, and he could hear the sound of music playing in the kid’s room, but he hadn’t come out.

Sighing, Tim got up and went to the brat’s room. “Damian,” he said, knocking loudly so he could be heard over the music, “you need to come eat breakfast.”

“I do not want your pathetic instant oatmeal, Drake,” Damian said through the door.

“Excuse you, it’s not instant oatmeal,” Tim said impatiently, but not cruelly, “I made it from scratch, now get out here and eat it.”

When Damian still didn’t come out, Tim snapped, “ _Now,_ Damian.”

The brat emerged from his room with all the anger of a wildfire and stormed over to the kitchen island. Leave it to Damian to find a way to aggressively sit on a bar stool and shove oatmeal into his mouth.

What the actual hell? Damian sometimes fell into bad moods, but he was never this awful.

“Is something wrong?” Tim asked calmly as he rejoined Damian at the counter.

“Tt. Nothing is wrong, Drake.”

Tim gave Damian a calculating gaze before taking a bite of his oatmeal and asking, “Are you sure? You seem angry or something.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Damian repeated forcefully, “you needn’t concern yourself.”

“Right,” Tim said, unconvinced. “So, science test today?”

“Yes,” the brat exasperated.

Tim collected their now empty bowls and went to rinse them in the sink, taking a moment to take a breath to keep from getting annoyed. “What’s it on?”

“Plants and photosynthesis. If you will excuse me, I need to be leaving for school.” Damian stood and slung his backpack over his shoulder, making his way to the door.

“Hang on,” Tim said, “I’m not ready. Let me get my shoes on.”

Damian huffed out an annoyed breath. “I do not need you walking me to school like a child, Drake.”

“What?” Tim asked, bewildered, “What are you talking about? We always walk to your school together, then I take the train from there to work.”

“And it adds twenty minutes to your commute each morning. It is an inefficient use of your time. I walk myself home from school each day, I don’t see why I need you to accompany me to school in the morning.”

“That,” Tim started, “isn’t the point.” Where the hell was this all coming from?

Damian rolled his eyes and made for the door again, but Tim put himself between the brat and the door.

“I’m walking you to school, Damian. Sit down and let me finish getting ready. If you keep arguing with me about it, you’ll be late.”

“I am not a child,” Damian shouted as Tim went to his room to retrieve his bag, shoes, and tie.

Tim sat on the couch and slipped his shoes on. “I didn’t say you were,” he replied dryly.

“Then why are you insisting on holding my hand all the way to school as if I were a child?”

“No one said anything about holding your hand, brat.” Tim rolled his eyes and slung his bag’s strap over his head. “Shall we? There’s 22 minutes before school starts, so we better hurry.”

“This is ridiculous,” Damian muttered as he followed Tim out of the apartment.

Once outside, Damian shoved his headphones into his ears and started listening to music. Every time Tim attempted to start a conversation, the brat walked a little faster and completely ignored him.

Tim sighed and started his own podcast. Whatever dumb mood Damian was in would pass, Tim was sure of it.

\----

It didn’t pass. When Tim got home from work, Damian was sitting on the couch watching television with his hood up.

Great.

Damian only kept his hood up when he was angry or depressed.

“Hey, brat,” Tim said as he hung his keys.

Damian ignored him.

“What do you want for dinner?” Tim asked as he looked in the fridge for ideas. When Damian didn’t answer, Tim said louder, “Damian. Dinner. What do you want?”

“I do not care what you prepare, Drake.”

Tim rolled his eyes and pulled out the ingredients for fajitas. Mushrooms instead of meat. He briefly considered making two pans of fajitas, one with meat and one with mushrooms, but that would just be more work and more dishes to wash.

He fixed the meal in silence, trying to ignore the tension in the room and the tinge of disappointment in his gut from the lack of a tiny little brat keeping him company.

“So,” Tim said while they were eating their dinner in silence, “how was your science test?”

“None of your business.”

“I mean, it kind of is,” Tim joked, “but whatever.”

“Tt. Debatable.”

“I have an exam tomorrow in my biology class,” Tim offered.

“No one cares.”

Tim scowled. “What’s your problem?”

Damian threw his fork down onto his plate, making a loud clanking noise. “This food is inedible. I am going to my room.”

“What the heck, Damian,” Tim shouted after the boy, but Damian didn’t respond, just finished his escape to his room with a slam of his door.

\----

Damian’s mood only got worse as the week went on. Whenever he spoke to Tim, it was entirely insulting. He had slipped back into his pattern of speaking to the teen as he had had back in Gotham.

Tim did not appreciate the verbal abuse from the brat.

Despite being called an imbecile, worthless, and a pretender by Damian every time the boy’s mouth opened, Tim kept his calm. He practiced his breathing techniques and kept his anger in check. Tim knew Damian. He’d seen the kid he could be, so he knew Damian was capable of not being a little shit 24/7. Whatever was going on with him would pass.

“Damian,” Tim said flatly during dinner a week after the brat’s mood had changed, “You have to eat dinner. You haven’t finished a single meal all week.”

“Your pathetic excuse for cooking is not worthy of me eating.”

Tim sighed heavily. He’d made baked chicken alfredo with some of the fake chicken patties and broccoli, knowing the brat loved that shit. There was literally nothing wrong with the dish, and Damian had eaten the same meal half a dozen times before. “Damian, you _have_ to eat. It’s not healthy to skip so many meals.”

Damian crossed his arms and sunk further into the couch. “Like you even care,” he mumbled, almost too softly for Tim to hear.

“What?” Tim demanded.

“Leave me alone, Drake,” the kid snarled.

“No. Hell no. What the heck do you mean “like you even care.”

Damian shot up and turned to face Tim, everything about his body language screaming aggression. “You can’t stop pretending, Drake.”

Tim looked at the kid incredulously. “What am I pretending?”

Instead of answering, Damian turned to storm to his room. Before the brat could retreat, though, Tim blocked the door and waited for a response.

“I can take care of myself, you can stop.”

“What? I know you can. What did I even do?” Where the hell was any of this coming from? What the hell was Damian even saying? Tim could stop pretending what? To take care of Damian?

Damian tried to shove Tim out of the way of his door, but Tim held his ground. “As if you care,” the demon said.

“Care about what?” Tim demanded, grabbing Damian’s wrists as he tried to shove Tim again.

The kid snatched his arms away from Tim and snapped, “You always hated me, there is no need to pretend you don't now.”

“What the fuck,” Tim said, losing all ounce of anger and annoyance he’d built up, “For starters: I _never_ hated you.”

“Tt. You’re a terrible liar.”

“Damian, shut up for five seconds,” Tim said while he rubbed at his face.

“I don’t need to hear anything your pathetic self has to say.”

“Dames, come on,” Tim sighed, “Where is this even coming from?”

“What does that matter? It’s the truth.”

“No, it’s not.” Tim grasped Damian’s wrist and pulled him over toward the couch. Damian resisted, but Tim was still stronger than the brat and was able to force it.

When Damian realized he wouldn’t win the struggle, he started walking toward the couch himself and snatched his arm away. Flinging himself down on the seat he complained, “I don’t want to hear your lies.”

Tim sat next to the kid and said softly, “Damian, what am I lying about? I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

“Father had to force you to drive me home. You didn’t even want to spend an hour with me.” Damian’s glare turned cold, making Tim want to shrink back.

“You mean, back on the night we got stranded here? That’s what you’re upset about?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t want me, you can cease the pretenses.”

“What-“ Tim said, startled, “what makes you think that?”

“You’re 16 and you never even wanted a brother in the first place. You have always hated me. You can-”

“Okay, stop,” Tim interrupted, “first off: no. I have always wanted a little brother for as long as I’ve lived. Second, I never hated you, like I already said. Third-“

“Bullshit. We never got along. You only pretend now out of loyalty to my father.”

“Yeah, we didn’t get along, but that doesn’t mean I hated you.”

Damian rolled his eyes and sank backward into the couch.

“Where did all this come from? I thought we were doing pretty good before this week.”

After a tense moment of silence, something seemed to break in the atmosphere. Damian visibly relaxed before whispering, “It’s just- Philips said-“

“That fucking social worker? Don’t listen to a damn thing she says. She’s an idiot.” Of course, it was the damn social worker. Why hadn’t Tim noticed how Damian’s foul mood started after her visit? What dumb ideas had she planted in Damian’s head?

“But she’s right,” Damian said, sounding defeated and younger than Tim had ever heard, “You didn’t sign up for this. You’re 16 and-and you didn’t even like me enough to want to drive me home. Why would you- You don’t have to-.” Damian’s breath caught as he sucked in a deep breath.

Tim sighed and pulled his legs up onto the couch to sit crisscross, facing Damian. “Whatever she told you was a boldfaced lie. I was annoyed I had to drive you home that night, yes. I’m sorry. I wish we had tried a little harder to get along back then. Now that I know you better, I see what I was missing out on. You’re a pretty awesome little brother.”

When Damian didn’t react to Tim’s words, he continued, “I mean, come on kid, look at me. I eat gross meat substitutes every day because you’re vegetarian. I hate tofu and beans and mushrooms so much but we have one of those things with dinner pretty much every night. You know why I do that?”

Guilt registered on Damian’s face as he shook his head.

“Because you’re my brother and I want you to be happy.” Tim frowned and he pulled on Damian’s arm to get him to look over. “I know I’m not Dick. I’m not your dad. I’m not the person you want to live with, but I’m here and I want to be, okay? No one is forcing me. Raising you isn’t a task I’ve been saddled with or an obligation I feel required to take, it’s a privilege and I’m honored to have it.”

Damian broke eye contact again and sat silently for a moment before finally whispering, “Not my dad.”

“What?”

“He’s your dad, too.”

Tim grinned widely and ruffled the kid’s hair. “You’re my favorite little gremlin.”

Damian returned a faint smile. “You really don’t like the chickpea patties?”

“God no,” Tim laughed, “they are awful.”

“Perhaps we should attempt to make them from scratch next time, instead of purchasing them from the freezer section.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” Tim said, already searching for recipes on his phone.

“I don’t know. I bet we could do it.”

“Oh yeah? You offering to actually help? Don’t you think the stove is a bit too dangerous for tiny little 11-year-olds?” Tim said with a devious grin.

Damian scowled, “Shut up, Drake. That woman was insane.”

“Come on, dinner isn’t going to eat itself. It’s not real chicken.”

“Ugh,” Damian groaned, “You’re worse than Grayson.”

Tim grinned.

\----

“Hey,” Tim said after dinner, “Let’s watch a movie tonight. I know just the one, I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

Damian raised an eyebrow as he helped wash the dishes. “What film did you have in mind?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Tim put _The Lego Batman Movie_ in the bluray player while Damian popped popcorn. He’d found the movie in a sale bin at Best Buy a couple weeks before and had been waiting for just the right time to watch it. He’d heard it was hilarious.

When the demon brat sat next to him on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn, Tim pressed play.

“No. I’m not watching this,” Damian whined when he saw the title screen.

“Shh, it’s starting.”

_’Black. All important movies start with a black screen. And music. Edgy, scary music that would make a parent or studio executive nervous.’_

“Oh my god.” Tim grinned.

“That is Grayson pretending to be Batman. Has to be.”

_‘Batman is very wise. I also have huge pecks. And a nine pack.’_

“Oh my god,” Tim repeated.

“Drake. What is this?” Damian demanded.

Tim turned the volume up a bit and declared, “This is art is what this is.”

 

_‘Stop him before he starts singing!’_

“This is amazing. Best Batman movie we’ve ever seen.”

Damian just groaned in response.

 

“Jason would flip his shit hearing Batman call the Joker ‘Jaybird.’ Just saying,” Tim commented.

Damian shifted and said, “Todd would hate this movie as a whole. It glorifies Joker too much.”

“Well, I guess if you put him in a children’s movie where death doesn’t exist he’s not quite as deranged as real life.”

“I know the comics covered Jason’s death pretty thoroughly,” Damian said “I don’t understand why a children’s movie would choose Joker as the villain knowing how dark his story is. He brutally murdered a child, after all.”

“You’ve read our comics?”

“Some of them, yes. I was curious.”

 

“Turn it off,” Damian demanded when Richard Grayson was introduced, “This is disrespectful.”

“No way,” Tim laughed, “this is gold.”

“This is nothing near the truth.”

“Well, having Dick and Bruce watch Dick’s parents plummet to their death would probably be a bit dark for a Lego movie.”

 

During the end credits, Damian wrestled the remote away from Tim, who surrendered it without putting up much of a fight.

“You have lost the privilege of choosing films for movie night,” Damian declared as he turned off the bluray player, cutting the final musical number off short.

“Aw, but that movie was gold.”

“No, it was incredibly disrespectful. Father behaves nothing like that.”

“It was brilliant and you know it. I’m absolutely bringing this movie back with us when we go home. Imagine Bruce watching it.”

“Tt. Grayson would love it, no doubt.”

\----

Within a week Damian and Tim fell into their old routine as if nothing had happened.

On a Sunday afternoon, Tim found himself sitting at the kitchen counter working on his calculus classwork. He had always been decent at math, but he wasn’t Dick Grayson good. Where Dick could look at an equation and come up with the answer without much thought, Tim needed pen and paper to work through it.

Tim had gone through half the exam he was working on when Damian approached him carrying what looked like his ‘home folder.’ Damian didn’t often bring the ‘home folder’ to Tim to review his work. Tim knew the folder was meant to be looked through by him daily, but Damian never seemed interested in showing his work to Tim, so he didn’t push. If something needed to be signed, Damian would pull it out himself.

Damian took the seat next to Tim and set the folder on the counter. When he didn’t say anything, Tim looked up from his work and asked, “What’s up, kiddo?”

“I require your signature,” Damian said slowly, as if he were unsure how Tim was going to react.

“What’d you do?”

“No,” Damian said hastily, “It’s nothing like that. It’s just…” the brat trailed off and began fiddling with his folder.

“Just,” Tim pressed.

“Do you recall telling me I needed a hobby?”

“Yes,” Tim nodded. He’d suggested it several times, actually, but Damian never seemed interested when Tim pointed out options.

“And,” the kid said, cutting his eyes up at Tim and quickly looking away while playing with the cuff of his sleeve. “Um. Were you serious about approving whatever pursuit I choose?”

Tim nodded again. “Yes.” He was getting a bit nervous but knew better than to show that. Whatever Damian wanted to do he was clearly embarrassed about. Tim started debating between the pros and cons of reacting positively or neutrally. If he was too positive and supportive, it might embarrass him too much and scare Damian off, but if he’s too neutral he might interpret it as disappointment and disapproval.

“Well,” Damian said slowly, “I wish to participate in theater.”

Tim blinked. “Oh, like plays?”

“Yes,” Damian said as he pulled out a permission slip, “My school is putting on _The Music Man_ and I wish to audition for the part of Harold Hill.”

“The lead role?” Tim asked as he looked at the paper thrust into his hands.

Damian nodded and watched nervously as Tim read the block of text on the permission slip.

“Cool,” Tim said as he signed, agreeing to allow Damian to remain after school three times a week, “Is this something you’re interested in doing beyond the school play?”

“Well, I had been taking acting lessons in Gotham,” Damian admitted quietly.

Tim snapped his gaze to Damian, shocked. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

Damian looked away and shoved the paper back into his folder. “No one knew that.”

“Oh,” Tim said, stifling a stupid smile. He knew something about Damian Dick didn’t know. “Well. If theater is something you want to pursue further, we can sign you up for a children’s theater company or a summer camp or something. You’ll need something to occupy your time this summer, anyway. You’ll get bored otherwise.”

“That would be acceptable.”

“Awesome. Do the research and pick something out, we can get you signed up. Okay?”

“Yes. Thank you, Timothy,” Damian said as he walked off, allowing Tim to continue with his calculus exam.

Tim rested his head in his hand to hide the grin he couldn’t stop from forming.

Damian in a school play. This was going to be awesome. For the first time, Tim hoped Bruce _wouldn’t_ show for a couple more months, just so he could see Damian singing and dancing on stage. Maybe if he got comfortable doing it here, developed his passion further, he’d be willing to do it back in Gotham.

Tim knew Damian wanted nothing more than to make his father proud and that drive would prevent him from doing anything he thought would disappoint the man, which included everything not related to crime fighting. Tim also knew, however, that Bruce would die to see Damian do something like this.

Maybe Bruce could appear the day of Damian’s play. That’d be amazing.


	14. Eight Months

To say Damian was excited for the school play would be an understatement.

That excitement had almost not existed, though.

The cast list was posted in early March, and for the entire weekend between Damian’s audition and the casting announcement, the kid would not shut up about it. Nervous, excited chatter was all Tim heard. He was already getting sick of hearing about theater.

Due to a mid afternoon doctor’s appointment, Tim had been home early on the Monday Damian learned what part he would play. Meaning, he was in the apartment when Damian came storming, slamming the door behind him, as if he had stomped all the way home from school and somehow was still angry. Tim was incredibly glad to not have seen the boy twenty minutes prior, assuming he’d calmed down during his walk home.

When the boy walked in and saw Tim sitting at the kitchen island, he shot him a glare and continued to storm off to his room, throwing his backpack down on the living room floor and slamming yet another door.

Tim took a moment to let the kid finish throwing his little tantrum and collect his own thoughts before he got up and knocked on the boy’s door. “Damian, can I come in?”

“Go away, Drake.”

At least the kid wasn’t crying. “Coming in, anyway,” Tim said as he opened the door.

Damian threw a pillow at Tim once the door was fully open from where he was pouting on his bed. Tim merely blinked, shooting Damian a look that said ‘are you done?’

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, of course not,” Tim said as he plopped down on Damian’s bed, knocking the kid a bit as he lay on the middle of the bed, making himself comfortable.

“Drake,” Damian whined, trying to push him off, “Get out.”

“Nah. Oh, hey Carrie,” Tim said as the cat jumped up to join them, “how come I only ever see you when Damian’s around? It’s as if you only like him.”

“Tt. Of course she only likes me,” Damian said, a tiny hint of an amused smile on his face, “She has taste.“

I am hurt,” Tim shouted, “Personally offended. I cannot tolerate this affront to my honor. Carrie,” he said, pointing his finger at the kitten nesting in Damian’s lap, “I challenge you to a duel.”

Damian rolled his eyes and scratched the cat’s neck. “She’d win.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tim said dismissively, tucking his hands behind his head, “Her claws are pretty damn sharp.”

They stayed there in silence for several minutes, Damian sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking his cat, and Tim lying in the center with his eyes closed. Finally, Damian took a breath and said, “I didn’t get the part.”

Tim figured. He opened his eyes and looked at the child. “Did they say why?”

A flash of rage flickered across Damian’s face before he said, “It was nepotism.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Ms. Anderson chose her son to play Hill.” Damian’s face pinched further in anger. “His audition was terrible, Drake.”

“Did you get a different part?”

Damian frowned. “I will be playing Winthrop.”

“Which one is that?”

“Kid with a lisp.”

Tim hummed. “He gets solos, right? Here’s what you do, you outshine that little shit Anderson kid and make everyone in the audience know who the real star is.”

The kid hugged his cat a bit closer to hide a grin.

“I’m gonna get to hear you sing, right?” Tim asked as he sat up.

“You’ve heard me sing.”

“No, I’ve heard you and 40 other children sing. I’ve never heard you sing by yourself.”

“Maybe if you get out of my room, Drake, I’ll invite you to the show.” Damian shoved at Tim again, succeeding at knocking him over.

“You little shit,” Tim laughed as he wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck and dragged him down with him.

The cat shrieked and ran off, causing Damian to shout about how classless Tim was. After wrestling for a minute, Tim let go and flipped off the bed.

“I’m going to that show regardless of whether you invite me, kiddo.”

The brat rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, clearly stifling the happiness he felt at Tim’s interest in his hobbies.

Channeling his inner Dick Grayson, Tim announced dramatically, “This calls for ice cream. To the parlor.” He pointed out the door and began marching out of the room as if he were on a mission.

“You’re such a child, Timothy,” Damian snorted as he followed behind.

\----

Late in March, Tim was up at 6am drinking some coffee while he read for one of his classes. He had been up for at least an hour but hadn’t done much to get ready for the day. It wasn’t unusual for him to be up so early, despite not really needing to be up until 6:30 at the latest. His insomnia was not completely cured by adopting a normal human schedule.

While he was still in his pajamas sporting what was probably some impressive bedhead, he didn’t know because he hadn’t looked in a mirror yet that morning, there was a knock on the door. Glancing at the time on his tablet, he saw it was only 6:15.

Blearily, Tim shuffled over to the door and cracked it open without removing the chain and was shocked from his early morning haze. “Ms. Phillips?” he said in disbelief. What the fuck was the damn social worker doing there before the sun even came up?

“Mr. Wagner,” she greeted.

Tim shut the door to remove the chain, then opened it wide enough to confront the woman as fear churned deep in his gut. “Uh, can I help you?”

The woman gave Tim a gentle smile and said, “I came to do an observation. I’d like to see how you two go about your morning routine.”

“Right,” Tim said, allowing the woman to enter the apartment. “Damian’s not even up yet. I was just doing some homework before I made breakfast.” He could feel his heart beat in his chest. What would this woman think of them? She already didn’t like Tim.

At least the boys tended to keep the apartment clean, Tim mused. He’d rather he not have answered the door in his twice slept in Superman themed pj pants and mismatched tshirt, but that’s probably what the woman was going for. Tim and Damian as they were naturally.

“What do you plan on making for breakfast?” she asked as she not so subtly scanned the apartment with her eyes.

Tim ran a hand through his hair and sat back down with his tablet and coffee. “Bacon and eggs. Maybe some potatoes, if Damian wants them.” He went to take a sip of his coffee and discovered it empty. Time for the third cup. “Coffee?”

“Coffee would be lovely, thanks.”

For ten minutes, Ms. Phillips tried and failed to engage Tim in small talk. Finally, she started asking about his schooling, and Tim gladly discussed his classes and career goals. Of course, he couldn’t straight up say he was studying physics so he could bring his brother and himself back to their universe, so Tim usually told people his goal was to one day be a professor of physics.

The woman wasn’t being overly hostile toward Tim. In fact, she was being rather friendly. It helped Tim quell the panic he was feeling deep in his chest, realizing the woman wasn’t there to cart his brother away for no reason.

Damian finally came out of his room at half past six, still half asleep. Tim couldn’t help but be amused he hadn’t noticed a third person in their apartment when he stumbled over to the island and rested his head in his arms. In his defense, the social worker had excused herself to use the restroom, but there were still plenty of clues of the presence of another person.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tim said as he cracked a few eggs for breakfast and added them to a bowl.

“Drake,” the kid mumbled as he sat up. “Must I tell you every morning to stop saying that?”

“But you’re such a ray of sunshine in the morning.”

“I am not.”

Tim barked out a laugh. “You’re right. Spinach or peppers?”

“Spinach. Are you making hashbrowns, too?”

“If you want,” the teen replied as he pulled out the spinach and tossed it in the skillet to sauté.

Damian laid his head back on the counter. “No, if you make my sausage that’ll be enough.”

“Already made bacon.”

“Hrn,” he said tiredly, “That’s fine.”

The sound of the bathroom door unlocking and being opened caused Damian to jump hard and reach to his waistband. Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Tim shouldn’t have let the social worker startle Damian.

He prepared to jump the counter to prevent the kid from pulling a knife on the woman, but realized at the same second Damian did that he wasn’t armed.

Damian darted his eyes between Ms. Phillips and Tim a couple times before he sat back down and took a few breaths, apparently realizing no one was attacking them.

Now Tim felt even worse about letting him be surprised. He was probably having flashbacks to being ambushed during his time with the League of Assassins, back when he was never allowed to feel safe due to all the deranged tests his mother and grandfather imposed on him.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” the woman asked as she walked over toward Damian.

With a hand out, Tim motioned for her not to touch him while he calmed down. “Sorry, Dames, I should have warned you.”

“I’ve let my guard down,” the child breathed to himself, so quietly Tim only caught it by lip reading. His normally tanned skin was nearly as pale as Tim’s and he was staring at the hands he had stretched out on the counter.

Tim couldn’t identify the look on the kid’s face. He looked like he wanted to break down and cry. Or explode in anger. Or possibly both, but it was like he also wanted to shut down all emotions and remain passive, and now he was struggling to pick a path.

Frowning, Tim rounded the island to wrap an arm around Damian’s shoulders from behind where he sat. “It’s okay,” he whispered into the kid’s ear, hopefully quiet enough so Ms. Phillips couldn’t hear, “I promise.”

Damian shook his head and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Tim,” he gasped.

Crap. Was he having a panic attack? Tim wrapped his other arm around the child and hugged him tightly. “You’re okay, kid. Just breathe. I’m so sorry I didn’t warn you.”

Damian nodded and kept his hands locked on Tim’s forearm, as if that was what was grounding him. Calming him down.

Tim met Ms. Phillips’ eyes when he rested his cheek on Damian’s hair. In those eyes Tim saw nothing but confusion and concern. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to be accusing Tim of anything.

“Your spinach is going to burn,” Damian eventually said with a steady voice as he released the arm he held captive, signaling that the moment was over. Tim squeezed one last time and let go of the child to tend to the stove.

Tim finished making the scrambled eggs with spinach in silence. When he served breakfast, he and Damian ate quickly so they could both get through the shower and get ready in time to leave the house at 7:50.

The silence was broken when Ms. Phillips took a bite of the bacon and started coughing, likely covering up a gag. “This is a very interesting texture,” she said.

“Damian’s vegetarian,” Tim supplied.

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you, now?”

The kid nodded but didn’t comment.

“He doesn’t like how animals raised for food are treated. I find it pointless to make two meals so I just make vegetarian everything,” Tim explained, shrugging.

He had always told himself he’d get some meat next time they’re at the store, but every time he decided to just forego it. It just meant spending more money and dirtying more dishes while cooking. The only time he ever ate meat anymore was while eating out. Even then, Damian often dragged them to vegetarian places. It was surprising how much he ended up not really minding cutting meat out of his diet.

Ms. Phillips smiled warmly and took another bite of the fake bacon.

When Damian finished eating, Tim said, “Dames, go get ready. Quickly, though, we have to leave in 30 minutes.”

The kid obeyed wordlessly and hurried off to shower.

“Okay,” Ms. Phillips said seriously when the water turned on in the shower, “What was that?”

Tim shrugged and collected up the dishes to wash. “Panic attack, I think. You startled him.”

“He’s 11,” she said incredulously, “Why is he having panic attacks?”

Tim pursed his lips and considered what he should tell her. There were dozens and dozens of reasons why Damian could have panic attacks. The most likely reason was he was reminded of how he’d be ambushed at any moment as a child to test his skills, and realized he wasn’t ready because he’d relaxed in Tim’s home. He couldn’t exactly tell the social worker ‘because he’s from a ninja death cult,’ though, now could he?

“Well he’s never had one in my care and I really don’t know much about his life with his mother. Based off what little stories our dad got out of him, it wasn’t pleasant.”

“Does he not feel safe here?” she questioned, not entirely unkindly.

“No,” Tim said, shaking his head as he rinsed off the plates, “He does feel safe. I think that’s what scared him. You startled him and he wasn’t prepared to defend himself against a violent attack because of the sense of security he’s developed.”

“Hmm,” she said as she dug around in her purse before she found what she wanted and handed it to Tim, “I didn’t give you one of these the last time I was here. My card. Call me if you have questions or would like help finding resources. My office is here to help you.”

“Thanks,” Tim said slowly, accepting the card. Who was this woman and what had she done to Ms. Phillips? Her last visit had been so hostile, and this time it was the exact opposite. Tim wondered if she’d already done interviews of those around them.

“Sorry for causing so much stress for him this morning. We will be in touch, Mr. Wagner.”

Nodding, Tim walked her out of the apartment and locked the door behind her.

What the hell? What had changed? Why was she so freaking pleasant now?

Tim pondered those thoughts as they finished getting ready for the day. They managed to leave the apartment on time, by some miracle, and walked to Damian’s school, both choosing to ignore the morning they’d had.

\----

Damian had practice three times a week. Or was it called rehearsals? Regardless, the kid stayed at school until 5 three times a week. On days with rehearsal, the brat seemed more energized than normal.

The kid was loving the whole musical thing.

Despite all his best efforts, Tim never got to hear Damian practice. It was as if the boy only practiced while Tim wasn’t home. Was he embarrassed? Why would he be, though? He’d already told Tim about being in the play, and usually never shut up about it. At dinner after every practice he’d recount the events of rehearsals for Tim, explaining what scene he was learning or what the other kids in the play did poorly. He was so open about being in the play, why on earth would he avoid practicing where Tim could see?

Tim got off work early one Friday on his boss’s insistence. Something about mental health and ‘enjoy the weekend everyone’ as he ordered the entire department to go home a few hours early. Instead of going back to the apartment to get lost in his schoolwork, however, Tim decided to crash Damian’s rehearsals.

By the time he arrived, it was half past 3 and practice had been going on for half an hour. Tim slipped into the already open auditorium doors and slid down into a seat in the back row, hoping that it would be too dark for anyone to really notice him. It wasn’t discouraged for parents to watch and looking around Tim saw several pairs of kids scattered about, presumably waiting for when they’d be needed on stage.

Damian and who Tim assumed was Ms. Anderson were standing center stage while about a dozen little children sat on the ground behind them. Strangely, though, there were also about a dozen teenagers sitting or standing with the kids. Some of the teens looked older than Tim. Damian had never mentioned there being high schoolers in the play.

“Okay,” the director said, the first thing she’d said that was loud enough for Tim to hear from where he was sitting, “Do you want to run through it one more time or are you ready to try it alone?”

“I’ve got it,” Damian replied with confidence.

When the woman nodded and walked to the piano, Tim quickly pulled out his phone. There was no way he wasn’t going to record this.

Ms. Anderson began playing the piano and nodded at Damian as she prompted him to sing, “ _O-ho, the Wells_ ”

Damian started singing just when he was supposed to, proving he didn’t need the lead-in from the teacher.

 _“O-ho, the Wells Fargo Wagon is a-comin’ down_  
_I don’t know how I could ever wait to see_  
_It could be something for someone who is no relation_  
_Or it could be something special_  
_Just for me.”_

Tim had to look away and hide his face in the hand not holding the camera to keep himself from bursting out in laughter. Not because Damian was bad. No, quite the opposite. The brat had the part down. He sang with the lisp perfectly and managed to make his voice sound like a little kid, without it sounding like he was just shouting his lines. That was always something Tim hated most about children in musicals. They always just sounded like they were yelling their solos.

He wanted to laugh, though, because this was not the same little demon spawn Tim had known back in Gotham. That brat was not compatible with the little kid singing and dancing up on stage with so much life and passion that it was like he’d been born to play the part of some lisping kid.

“Very good, Damian. Is everyone ready to put it all together?”

Damian beamed at the praise and nodded while there was a chorus of agreements to the director’s question.

Tim watched as the group ran through the song a handful of times, often times pausing so Ms. Anderson could work with individual kids on their part. By the time 5pm came around, they’d successfully run through the song twice without having to stop to correct something, and all the elementary school kids seemed to be getting tired.

It took ten more minutes past when the teacher dismissed all the kids for Damian to stop chatting with a couple of the older kids and collect up his backpack to leave the auditorium. Tim waited patiently for him to come down toward the open doors to his right. He was hoping he’d be able to say ‘boo’ or something ridiculous to startle the kid, but when the brat was half way down the aisle he noticed Tim and narrowed his eyes.

“Drake. _What_ are you doing here?” he hissed as he came to a stop in front of the teen.

Tim grinned. “Came to see you sing. You said I could.”

“No, I said you could come to the show. Not rehearsals.”

“Pft,” Tim huffed as he stood to leave, “Too late. I saw everything.”

Damian groaned and dragged his feet as he followed Tim out of the school building.

They walked in silence for a few blocks before Tim finally said, “You’re good.”

The brat pursed his lips and looked away, clearly pleased. “That solo is not the best to judge skill from, Drake.”

“Winthrop is one of the main characters, yes?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t speak much until the second act,” Damian explained, “That song is the first time he says more than a handful of words at a time. In the scene after he rambles a bit, and that’s about the size of my part.”

“But all the other main characters are played by high schoolers, right? That’s what I gathered looking around.”

Damian nodded. “Your observations would be accurate.”

“So, Dames,” Tim said, looking to his little brother expectantly, “you got the only main role available to the elementary school kids. She chose you as the best out of the younger kids.”

“I suppose,” he replied slowly, “that would be one way to view it.”

After a moment, he added petulantly, “But Tim, I performed _Trouble_ flawlessly in my audition.

“I haven’t seen that movie in ages, kid. No idea what song that is.”

“It’s my favorite number in the show. Anderson keeps tripping over the words. It’s despicable.”

Tim pulled out his phone and searched for the song on youtube and found a video of it to play as they approached their building.

Damian peeked at Tim’s screen and said, “Play the Robert Preston version, it’s the best.”

He did as the kid said and arched an eyebrow as the singer began talking faster. “You can sing this? I don’t think this guy is breathing.”

Damian grinned smugly as he punched in their code and pulled the door open.

They walked inside and Damian yanked the headphones out of Tim’s phone and hit play on the screen, causing the song to play over the speakers.

The kid nodded and started singing along to the song as they entered the stairwell.

 _“Well I should say_  
_Now, friends, lemme tell you what I mean_  
_Ya got one, two, three, four, five, six pockets in a table_  
_Pockets that mark the diff'rence_  
_Between a gentlemen and a bum…”_

Damian continued singing along through the entire song as they climbed the four flights of stairs. Tim couldn’t help but smile at how into it Damian was. He seemed to lose himself in the song as he got further into the character. If Tim didn’t know better, he’d even say Damian was dancing along to it as he bounced up the stairs.

When he reached the spoken section of the song in the middle, he turned to Tim and continued following along, saying the words directly to him. Tim’s smile only grew wider as Damian finished out his song. The kid had either forgotten he had an audience or was so into showing off his skills, he didn’t care that it was _Tim_ he was singing to.

He finished belting out the final note as they reached their door.

“What the fuck, kid?” Tim asked with a laugh as he unlocked their apartment door.

“What?” Damian demanded.

He motioned for the brat to enter before he did. “If you loved theater this much, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Damian exaggerated a shrug and kicked his shoes off onto the boot mat against the wall. “Didn’t think I’d be allowed.”

“Kid, I can’t think of a single person in the family who wouldn’t let you participate in theater.”

“You think I can continue when we return to Gotham?” he asked with a hopeful smile.

“Heck yeah, I’ll make sure of it. Cool?”

He nodded. “Very cool.”

\----

On Monday, Tim had a phone interview with a prospective employee for the cyber security department. He and Paul conducted the interview together, since Tim had ‘never’ hired before. As far as Paul knew, at least.

Sometimes it would make life a ton easier to just come clean and tell everyone he’d been a CEO for a year before moving to NYC and RI, but no one would believe him. Wayne Enterprises was fictional, after all, and teenagers only became CEO before being able to drive in fiction.

Whatever.

Tim hated interviewing over the phone. He much preferred taking his prospective employees out for lunch to discuss the job casually. Sitting eye to eye with the person always helped him accurately judge their character and seeing how they interacted with the wait staff could usually show character much better than asking stupid ‘what would you do’ questions over the phone.

Regardless, the interview went fine and he and Paul were both in agreement that the guy would likely be a good match. When they finished discussing the decision to move forward with hiring, Paul requested Tim stick around a minute to chat.

Tim had to suppress a groan. Whenever Paul wanted to ‘chat,’ it was always about something personal, and usually not a painless conversation. He had to remind himself that he liked Paul and liked the man caring.

“I got a phone call from a woman on Friday,” Paul began, refusing to meet Tim’s eyes.

“Oh? Bet your wife loved that,” Tim joked, trying to break the tension that had suddenly suffocated the room.

Paul huffed a short laugh then sobered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having problems with CPS?”

Tim’s heart seized as a painful stab of pain shot across his chest. “Did uh,” Tim paused to clear his throat, “Did she give you indication on how she’s feeling about everything?”

“She asked me a lot of questions about you and your personality. She seemed to think you have a temper, which I disputed vehemently. I’ve never seen you angry.”

“I mean, I do get angry,” Tim said, shrugging, “I just don’t usually show it unless it’ll actually help the situation.”

“Which is the opposite of having a temper,” he pointed out, “Why is she investigating you in the first place?”

“Uh,” Tim hesitated, “The neighbors called the cops on us back in August? They thought I was abusing Damian when it was just Damian throwing a tantrum.”

“What?” Paul demanded, “Why didn’t you say something?”

Tim furrowed his brow. “What was there to say?” Telling Paul about it would have just resulted in Paul going into lecture mode or understanding boss mode and Tim doesn’t always have the energy to listen to the man. Talking about problems and feelings isn’t Tim’s favorite thing. He is a bat, after all.

Paul sighed. “Well, if you need help Tim, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Tim said with a grimace as he got up to leave the office.

\----

Damian’s play was in late April. The students performed it several times at both the elementary school and the high school that had been participating.

Tim attended the Friday night performance at the elementary school.

The show was… just awful. True to Damian’s word, Morgan Anderson sucked. The kid was constantly out of tune and forgot his lines at least three times. Tim found a great deal of amusement watching Damian struggle to keep his annoyance off his face during the teenager’s lines.

Damian, on the other hand, clearly had promise. He was no Hugh Jackman or.. or… Tim had no idea who was on Broadway, actually. The kid wasn’t amazing, but he was clearly talented. With practice and the proper lessons, he could be great one day, if he wanted.

After the show, Tim went backstage to retrieve Damian, and found the kid absolutely giddy. He hadn’t seen the kid so happy since perhaps finding out his dad would let him keep being Robin.

“Tim,” Damian exclaimed when he saw the teen backstage, “did you like the show?”

“Oh yeah,” Tim said, wrapping an arm around the boy in a short hug, “you guys did great. Especially you.”

“Thanks,” Damian beamed.

Tim motioned for the doors and asked, “Are you free to leave? Shall we head home?”

“Yes, let’s do that. I’m starving.”

Once outside in the crisp spring night air, Tim asked, “Did you have fun?”

Damian continued exuding with excitement as he answered, “Yes. It- Yeah. A lot.”

“I’m glad.”

“I want to keep doing this, even when I’m an adult. Maybe as my job.” Damian’s smile dropped and he looked up at Tim to ask hesitantly, “Is that okay?”

Tim smiled warmly and ruffled his brother’s hair. “Yeah, that’s _okay._ ” That was more than okay. Hearing the child have a dream was great, even if Tim wasn’t sure whether Damian would actually follow through with it. Adulthood was still a while away for him, and most kids changed their minds a hundred times before settling on a career path. Regardless, Tim was thrilled the boy was exploring his interests and learning about himself as a person, instead of about the adults in his life he thought he was required to emulate.

“I’ve been researching summer day camps.”

“Oh?” Tim questioned, raising an eyebrow, “Did you pick one out?”

“Well,” Damian looked away and toyed with the hem of his sleeve, “There’s one that would be incredible, but it’s kind of expensive so I don’t think we can afford it.”

Tim rubbed at the side of his face. “Hmm. Tell me about it.”

“It’s all summer long, from right after school lets out in June until late August, and it’s every weekday from 9 to 4. It focuses on every skill required for musicals and they do smaller performances of a song or two each week, then four musicals a year.”

“Sounds perfect,” Tim said, “so how much does it cost.”

“Well,” Damian said, chewing on his lip, “Uh like a thousand dollars a week.”

“Oh,” Tim started.

“But I can always just do one or two weeks. Or I can wait until school starts back and join for the school year when they only meet on Saturdays. That’s much cheaper. Or I could keep looking and find a cheaper school. I could also just find some for-fun theater group in the city. It doesn’t have to be this-“

“Damian,” Tim interrupted, “Send me a link to the school and other options you’ve picked and we’ll look at it, okay? I can’t afford $8,000, but maybe we can figure something out, okay?”

“It’s more like 10 grand,” Damian said sadly.

“I don’t have that kind of money but if we find you something else to do that’s cheaper, I don’t see why you can’t do a week here or there with them.”

“Yes,” the kid exclaimed, "Awesome."  

\----

It wasn’t unusual for Tim’s office phone to ring multiple times a day. There were still a handful of employees at RI who preferred to just call when they had a question instead of email. Personally, Tim favored emailing, since most things he asked weren’t urgent enough to need an immediate response, and most people responded to emails within the hour if they were in the office.

But still, there were always those people who were just better at expressing themselves orally than in writing. So, when his phone rang at 8:30, he didn’t think much of it. “Tim Wagner,” he answered absently as he continued working on a report that was due by 9am.

 _“Mr. Wagner,”_ the voice greeted, “ _This is Cynthia Phillips. How are you today?”_

Tim’s blood went cold as he lost focus on his work. “Uh, Hi Ms. Phillips. I’m doing well, how about you?”

_“Oh I’m fine, thank you. Do you have time to meet with me today?”_

“I-“ Tim stopped. She was actually asking this time? So far she’d only dropped in on him without warning, “Yes. I can fit you in. Damian’s got rehearsals for his play this afternoon so he’s not out of school until 5, so we can both be free anytime after 5:30.”

_“I meant with just you, actually. Perhaps we can meet for coffee somewhere near your work so you don’t have to skip too much of the day?”_

Tim switched to the tab with his calendar and looked at when he had a chunk of time. “Sure. I am free from 10 until noon and then again at 2 until about 3:30.”

_“Then let’s meet at 10:15. Is the Starbucks on Chambers okay?”_

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said, nodding, even though the woman couldn’t see him. He added the event to his calendar, despite knowing there was no way he’d forget it was happening.

A few minutes before 10, Tim made his way over to the Starbucks and ordered himself a dark roast and added just a touch of cream and sugar. The strong taste would give him something to focus on. Maybe keep him calm. Coffee was his friend, like that.

The social worker was late by ten minutes, but she did eventually show. After ordering herself a frap, she joined Tim at the pair of chairs he’d picked in the corner of the café.

“Mr. Wagner,” she greeted as she sat down.

“Good morning,” he replied.

“How has your morning been going?”

Tim sighed and indulged the woman in idle chitchat for several minutes. Small talk was his least favorite thing. They both knew they were there to have a serious conversation, why couldn’t she just get on with it?

Finally, after they’d discussed the weather, upcoming summer plans, and Tim’s progress in school, the woman sighed and dropped her shoulders. “I want to apologize to you, Mr. Wagner.”

Tim straightened in his seat and gave her a calculating look. “What for?”

“You were right. I wasn’t fair to you. I’ve, uh,” she breathed and looked away, out the window, “I’ve dug deep into this case. I’ve conducted half a dozen interviews, reviewed the police reports, including the 911 call, replayed the interactions I’ve seen between you and Damian, and honestly I leapt to conclusions.”

“Oh,” Tim said, at a complete lost for words. He was frozen to his seat, his hands slightly shaking. This was happening. It was actually happening.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” she repeated, rubbing at her forehead. “It’s not an excuse, because I shouldn’t have let it affect my other cases, but that morning one of the children under my watch was admitted to the hospital because his brother decided to throw a skillet at him. I-“ she paused to rub at her face again.

“I didn’t dig to deeply into their case,” she finally continued, “It was so similar to yours. I got both of them assigned at the same time, and both were put on the backburner because neither police report suspected the custodial brother of wrongdoing. When that one resulted in a child nearly dying from a fractured skull, I guess I took that anger and frustration out on you. Then, when you answered the door and I saw that you didn’t even look 16, much less 18, I made a lot of assumptions about your maturity that I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Wow,” Tim whispered, bewildered.

She frowned. “After interviewing Damian’s teachers, the musical director, your boss, and a couple of your neighbors, I’ve heard nothing but praise about you and Damian. You seem to be doing a good job and I shouldn’t have come in so suspicious of you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, nodding, “I understand where you were coming from, though. But trust me when I say I would never hurt Damian. He’s a little brat half the time, believe me, but he’s my little brother, you know?”

“I know,” Ms. Phillips smiled, “I could tell just listening to you two interact that morning I observed how much you genuinely love him.”

Tim nodded. “I do.”

“Have you thought about the long-term, though?” she questioned, shifting topics.

“What do you mean?” Tim asked, settling back into his chair as he took a sip of coffee.

“He’s got seven more years until he’s 18. That’s really a long time, and you mentioned grad school. Have you thought about how you’re going to juggle grad school, working full time, and raising him?”

“Not really,” Tim said honestly, “My boss has already approved me shifting to largely teleworking next year to allow me to attend classes at NYU. I plan on applying to Columbia for graduate school, so I was just hoping to do the same thing and telework while I attend classes there. Whatever ends up happening, though, I’ll make it work.”

And he would. That was what Tim did best, roll with the punches and make life work out no matter what it throws at him. He really hoped he didn’t have to use any of his long-term plans, but he’d continue to create them.

Tim took another sip of coffee and continued, “Right now I make sure I have the evenings and weekends off so I can spend time with him.” Of course, originally that had simply been so he could _supervise_ the boy, keep him from being stupid and getting himself killed trying to fight crime in this reality, but as the months went on he found himself really enjoying the time he spent with the brat. “I don’t see myself changing priorities anytime soon.”

Ms. Phillips gave him a warm smile, “You have my card, you have my number. My office is at your disposal, Mr. Wagner. Call if you ever need help or have questions, but we will be dropping our investigation. I am sorry for any stress I’ve caused you and your brother and wish you the best in the future.”

With those words, Tim felt the tension rush out of his body in a wave of relief. “Thanks,” he said sincerely as he stood to shake her hand.

And just like that, it was over. All the worries he’d been having over the past couple months vanished just as quickly as they’d been created. Tim wanted to laugh. What would Dick say to all this? He’d probably be thrilled in his stupid big brother way, all proud of his littlest brothers for getting along so well.

What about Bruce? He’d probably approve, too. He had hinted that one time that he wished Tim and Damian would get along, didn’t he? Tim couldn’t wait to see everyone’s reaction.

\----

The theater school Damian had chosen was the best in the city for children who were not already on Broadway, or whatever it was the stars of this little hobby did. Just based off the website, they took the art very seriously.

As Damian said, it would cost nearly $10,000 for him to attend camp all summer long, but upon further research Tim found where parents could volunteer a number of times throughout the summer and get a reduced tuition rate of nearly 50%.

Five grand was still a sizable chunk of money, but Tim was confident he could come up with it, especially since it was due in small amounts throughout the summer instead of in one lump sum up front.

Without asking Damian, or even letting him know so not to get his hopes up, Tim submitted an application for the boy using footage from the rehearsal he witnessed and Damian’s show. The next week, Tim received a call and had to undergo a ‘parent interview,’ before the school would consider offering Damian an audition.

Really, now, they took the whole thing seriously. For an organization teaching a bunch of children to dance around and sing, the school really put the guardians through a ton of hoops.

The phone interview wasn't terrible.  At first Tim felt incredibly attacked as the woman, Patricia something, he couldn't remember exactly, interrogated him on how serious  _Tim_ was about the whole affair.  He had her clarify what the heck she meant, because while Tim really didn't care about theater, hated it kind of, sorry Damian, he did care about Damian and the kid's happiness.  If jumping through all these dumb hoops and supervising 40 brats all day twice a month was the cost of that happiness, then Tim would do it.  

When Patricia heard that she offered Damian the audition and the scholarship, pending he got accepted at the audition.  

"Dames," Tim shouted when he walked into the apartment after work that day.  

"You don't have to yell, Drake," Damian responded from the couch, "I'm not even twenty feet away."  

"I have great news," Tim said excitedly.  

"Really?" Damian perked up and watched as Tim walked around the couch and plopped down next to him.

"Yep.  I submitted an application for you to Manhattan School of Children's Theatre."

A mixture of fear and hope flickered into Damian's eyes and he said, "And?"'

"You've got an audition in May."

"I do?  And, if I get in, can we afford it?"

"In exchange for me volunteering twice a month, you've got a scholarship."  

"Yes," the kid exclaimed, "You’re _my_ favorite.”

Damian seemed to catch up to what had come out of his mouth and turned bright red, ducking his head so Tim couldn’t see.

All Tim did was laugh and reply with, “Right back at you."

"This is going to be so great.  What should I do for the audition?  Ugh I have so much to prepare," Damian began mumbling as he went to his room, phone in hand, likely looking through options for his audition.

Well.  Tim was probably about to get very acquainted with show-tunes.  Great.  

Tim always hated musical theater.  


	15. Dick

Dick enjoyed having Jason around. He really did. Usually. Sometimes. But lately the teen had just been grating on his nerves.

It probably was just because Dick was on edge with both Damian and Tim missing, but Jason seemed to be purposely over-the-top about everything just to annoy him. Or Bruce. Or probably both of them.

The boys missing was getting to them all. Ever since Bruce had discovered the weapon used in the kidnapping, he’d been running test after test on it, forbidding any of them to touch it. Dick had half a mind to call in the Justice League behind Bruce’s back just to get as many people on the case as possible. His patience was running thin.

“How many analyses are you gonna run?” Jason asked as he leaned against the Batmobile, “I mean, I get it, can’t be too cautious, all that jazz, but I think at this point we need to just shoot it to see what it does.”

“This weapon shorted out every camera in a five-block radius when it was fired,” Bruce repeated for probably the fourth time, “We aren’t going to just fire it.”

“And you have faraday cages around every single thing electronic in this stupid cave. I bet you even store the toothbrushes in one,” Jason shot back.

“No, Jason,” Bruce growled, returning his attention to the screen.

“How long are we gonna just stand around,” Jason nearly screamed. The sound of his voice, the anger it radiated, caused Dick to flinch. That’s exactly what they needed, a pissed off Jason.

“Every second we waste with your bullshit,” he continued, his sharp voice piercing the air, demanding attention, “is a second those boys don’t have. You know as well as I what happens when you drag your feet during a kidnapping.”

Bruce stood from his chair with so much rage that it went flying backward, tumbling on its side and crashing to the ground. The way he stalked over to Jason sent dread down Dick’s spine. Jason stood and tensed, clearly resisting the urge to flee.

“Okay, okay,” Dick said, inserting himself right between his father and brother, forcing the two men to stay a couple steps away from one another. Either man could have easily fought back, pushed him aside. While he was confident he could hold his own against Jason _or_ Bruce, he wasn’t so sure he could fight both at the same time and come out the winner. Perhaps end in a tie. But not win.

“Let’s just calm down, all right?” Dick continued, looking the two hotheads in the eyes, one after the other, “We all want the boys back, so let’s focus on that and not on fighting.”

“I just want to know why we’re sitting on the weapon,” Jason said, the anger from before not completely dissipated, “We all saw the footage. We know they got shot with it. _What_ does the gun do, old man? What are you hiding from us?”

Dick turned to Bruce, who had flinched back from Dick’s touch at Jason’s words, and studied his father’s face intently. Bruce wasn’t the best at showing emotions, but he sucked at actually hiding them, too. And right in the man’s eyes, Dick could see _devestation._

“Bruce?” Dick asked, dropping his arms completely.

“It-” Bruce began, just to stop and walk back to the computer. He cleared his throat and said a bit more calmly, “As far as I can tell, it shoots off a high-level energy beam of some sort. If the boys were hit with it…” the man trailed off and frowned, then looked back at the readings on the screen.

“Shit,” Roy swore, startling Dick. He had honestly forgot the archer was there.

“I think,” Jason said, approaching the table where Bruce had the gun lying, “We need to fire it now.”

“ _No,_ ” Bruce insisted, but a bit too late, as Jason had already snatched the gun up and retreated to the other side of the cave.

Bruce looked to Dick for help, as if Dick were going to side with Bruce just because. He wasn’t entirely convinced Jason was right in that everything in the Batcave would be _fine_ if they fired the weird gun, but he also was getting restless and any lead was worth exploring. If this had any chance of helping them solve the case faster, they should at least try it.

“Okay. What to shoot, what to shoot?” Jason mused aloud.

“Jason,” Bruce warned, to no avail. The teen completely ignored him.

The fact that Bruce wasn’t physically attempting to stop Jason spoke volumes, though. Why couldn’t the stubborn old man just admit he was wrong and go with someone else’s plan like an _emotionally healthy person_?

Right, right. Batman.

Dick picked up a pen from a table and held it out for Jason to see.

“No. That’s too small,” the teen dismissed, waving a hand at Dick. When he found what was apparently the ‘right sized’ object, he picked it up and held it triumphantly in the air. “This will do.”

Dick frowned. “That’s Tim’s mug.”

Jason raise an eyebrow while he positioned it _just right_ on a cleared table. “And?”

“He won’t be happy about you shooting it.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Jason remarked. He spun the mug a bit so the Superman logo was clearly visible to those watching, then stepped back five paces.

Bruce sighed and said, “I’ll buy him a new one.”

At that, Jason grinned wide. It was as close to a ‘fine, we’ll do it your way, Jason,’ Batman was going to offer.

“Get your doohickey to monitor it, B-man,” Jason said as he began toying with the buttons on the gun, “Arsenal? Film it?”

“Sure thing, Jaybird,” Roy replied.

Dick looked at the mug again and his frown deepened. This was a terrible idea, and they all knew it. The mature adult part of him wanted to protest, but that voice was being outshouted by the need to know what had happened to the boys. The longer they went only hearing that ‘they’re gone,’ the more his worry increased, and Dick’s gut was telling him the gun was the key to the puzzle.

“All right,” Jason said, nodding at the weapon after he inspected every button, “Are you ready, kids?”

Roy pressed record on the camera and said, “Aye Aye, Captain.”

Jason grinned and said, “I can’t hear you.”

“Aye Aye-” Roy shouted, just to be interrupted by Bruce, who was clearly annoyed.

“This is the time to be serious” he snapped, a phrase all Robins were used to hearing. Dick appreciated a good joke, honestly, he did, but for once, Bruce was right. This was serious. Their two littlest brothers were missing, it was no time for joking around.

“Fine,” Jason grumbled, taking one last look at the buttons of the weapon before aiming it at the mug, “On three?” he asked, directing the question at Bruce.

The man nodded, then slowly counted. When he reached three, Jason pulled the trigger.

A lot of things happened in that instant.

The gun let out a blinding blue light that seemed to engulf the mug.

Jason jumped back, nearly dropping the weapon before he recovered it gracefully.

And Bruce shouted something at Jason that was lost to Dick’s ears as he watched the light intently.

Then there was silence.

Because the mug was gone.

Dick’s heart beat in his chest. Ten beats. Twenty. Thirty. That’s all he heard. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak.

Because the mug was gone.

 _They’re gone,_ the thugs had all said.

_Gone._

“Fuck.”


	16. Ten Months

Damian graduated from fifth grade. He actually walked across stage and accepted a diploma. Damian Wayne dressed up in a ridiculous little robe and went through an adorably stupid little ceremony for finishing... the fifth grade.

It was hilarious.

The little brat hated every second of it. For once, Tim agreed that it was kind of dumb.

Even if the way he finished elementary school was silly, Tim was still proud the brat had managed to finish 5th grade without killing anyone or being expelled.

On top of that, he was accepted to the theater school he wanted so badly to attend. So, the kid was willing and eager to spend more time with children his age all throughout the summer. Singing and dancing. Alfred was going to be ecstatic to learn about this.

Camp… or was it school? Whatever Damian was doing started at 9am every weekday and was located five blocks from Tim’s work. As trustworthy as Damian was venturing through the city alone… Tim absolutely did not trust Damian to wander the city alone.

For starters: He was eleven. It was stupid Dick, and later Bruce, let the kid patrol as Robin at ten. He was a child whether he acted like one or not, assassin training or not, and children shouldn’t be wandering the city alone, much less dressing up and fighting crime. Tim could deal with him walking home from a school that was a little more than a mile away, but the theater camp was almost five miles away and required taking a train.

A lot could go wrong with a commute like that, and Tim didn’t want to find out Damian had gone missing during his morning commute to camp over nine hours after the fact when the kid didn’t show up for dinner. The mere thought of that was unsettling. It was why he insisted on walking Damian to school all throughout the past year, and it was why he insisted they commute together during the summer. It really didn’t make Tim all that much later to work, either.

Damian, to his credit, didn’t have a problem with that. He was fine with riding the train with Tim to camp. What he took issue with was Tim’s insistence that he hang out in his office after camp was over until Tim got off work.

Which was probably why he was so grumpy the first day he went to Tim’s office. It was just before five, so most of the staff were wrapping up the day. Tim and a handful of others on the floor tended to stay until closer to six.

Tim had been out in the bull pen area of the floor, chatting with one of his employees, when Damian came off the elevator. He needed to ask his lead coder a few questions for the report he was finishing up before the man bailed for the day and was hoping to do so before the brat got there. Tim didn’t notice Damian at first, instead only cluing in to the fact he’d arrived when Tiffany greeted the boy.

“Hey sweetheart, who are you looking for?” she asked in her sickeningly sweet voice. Tiff should have recognized Damian. She had printed all their pictures, after all. With any normal child, the tone would probably be forgiven, but with Damian....

“Oh, sorry one second,” Tim said quickly, excusing himself from his conversation with Eddie, the coder. Whatever Damian was about to say was probably going to involve death threats.

“I do not require your assistance, woman. I am not a child,” Damian snipped.

“Of course you aren’t,” Tiffany said with a grin, and Tim groaned internally as he quickly rushed over to the pair.

“Continue patronizing me-“ Damian began, just as Tim walked up to him from behind and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Damian, no murdering my colleagues,” he suggested flatly.

“Tt,” the kid clicked, shrugging his shoulders in attempt to shake Tim off, “I make no promises, Drake.”

Tim smiled apologetically to Tiff and simply said, “Kids,” as he guided Damian toward his office.

“I am not a child,” Damian snapped, stomping a foot as he said it.

“Kinda are,” Tim said with a laugh. Really, Damian was fricken hilarious. Only children threw tantrums and stomped around, and it was even better when his brother pulled that crap while shouting about not being a child.

Damian scowled and snapped, “That is it, I am going home.”

“Nope,” Tim said flippantly as he pushed Damian again toward his office, “you’re going into my office.”

“I will not stand here and-“

“Then don’t stand, walk. To my office. This way.” Tim pointed toward his door, ignoring the amused grins his coworkers and employees weren’t even trying to hide at their exchange.

“Drake-“

Tim cut him off sharply, done playing nice, “This is a conversation we will have in my office.”

At that, Damian stomped the rest of the way to the office and flung himself down on one of the armchairs. “This is pointless. I am not a child in need of babysitting. I am capable of returning home unassisted.”

Sighing, Tim shut the door and took his seat behind the desk. “No one’s babysitting you. In fact, I’m about to leave you to your own devices while I continue working. Leave this building, though, and we’re gonna have problems.”

“Tt,” he said, rolling his eyes, “Problems? Is that meant to be intimidating?”

Tim gave Damian a calculating look and pointed his finger while saying, “If you leave this building I’ll….”

“You’ll what?” the brat challenged as he pulled out his sketchbook and pencils from his bag.

“Hang on, let me think.” He sat back, contemplating. “Ground you. Yeah. I’ll ground you.”

“Ground me from what?” Damian demanded.

“I don’t know. TV?” he said, shrugging.

“Tt.” He flipped through the pages until he found a blank one and began doodling.

“Drawing?”

Damian rolled his eyes, again. God he was such an annoying little kid. Tim should ban eye rolling. And his stupid little tt sound, but he didn’t want to sound like his dad with the ‘don’t you roll your eyes at me’ line.

“Your cat,” Tim offered, more amused than anything at this point.

The brat narrowed his eyes, obviously offended by the very idea. “She is not an object, Drake.”

“Fine. Fine,” Tim laughed, “I’m sure I’ll think of something that’ll work. You never make me parent you, I don’t really know how to do it.” In all honesty, Tim probably still needed to be parented himself. Although he thought he was doing a pretty good job taking care of himself thus far.

“That is because you are not my parent,” the brat pointed out.

“Well aware,” he replied, still thinking. “Oh, I know. I’ll withdraw you from theater.”

Damian’s face shifted from the annoyed scowl to a horrified gape. “You can’t,” he shouted.

Tim grinned victoriously. “Bingo. Found it.”

“I hate you,” he mumbled, pulling his legs up so he could rest his sketchbook on them.

Tim’s shit eating grin grew wider and he chucked his pen at Damian playfully. “No, you don’t.”

Damian rolled his eyes, again God, and sunk down into his sketchbook so Tim couldn’t see his face.

Since that was probably the end of that, Tim hopped up and said, “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?” He needed to catch Eddie before the man left, and it was right at 5.

“Whatever, Drake, leave so I can draw in peace,” he said, but there was no anger left in his voice.

Tim smiled and ruffled Damian’s hair on his way out of the office. The brat responded by smacking away his hand and whining, “Tim, must you?”

“I must,” Tim announced as he exited the room.

\----

It had been over nine months since Tim had quit training vigorously every day. Nine months and he was terribly out of shape, for a bat, at least. He had lost some muscle mass, that’s for sure. The suit he’d travelled to this dimension in didn’t even fit anymore. It was too large. That’s how bad it was. It would take months to get back into shape for patrol once they returned home. Bruce was going to be pissed.

Tim considered joining a gym, but honestly when did he have time to do that? Wow was he ridiculous. He had half the responsibilities now that he had in Gotham. How could he say he didn’t have time for something?

Then again, he actually slept now. Not like 8 hours a night, but at least 6. Usually. He could always get up earlier in the morning to go to the gym.

“Damian,” Tim said at dinner one night, “I’m considering joining a gym or something. I want to pick back up training.”

The brat looked up from his phone and narrowed his eyes, “Why join a gym? Just train at home like me.”

“You still train?” Tim asked skeptically, “When?” He could buy the brat training after school or something, but Tim never didn’t know where Damian was during the summer. If he wasn’t in his little school, he was with Tim. There was no way he was training.

“Yes, of course. I have to maintain my endurance and strength if I am to be useful upon our return to Gotham.”

Yeah, okay. Just throw that at Tim. Stupid little brat. “When?” Tim repeated.

“In the mornings before I shower,” Damian replied simply.

Tim blinked. He was almost always awake before Damian showered. He never once saw the kid training. “Where?”

“Tt. In my bedroom, of course.”

“Your bedroom? It’s barely bigger than your bed? How do you even?”

Damian shrugged. “We could always spar, if you wish.”

That could work. He had suggested they do that months ago. Of course, back then he was kind of concerned the brat would take it as a chance to murder him. They were past that now, though. Right? Tim wasn’t entirely sure he could take the kid now that he was so out of shape.

Tim must have taken too long thinking because Damian looked away and mumbled, “Or you could join a stupid gym.”

“We can spar,” Tim said, “That would be fun. I think we should start running or something, too, though.

Damian lit up in the strange little way the kid did while trying to appear uncaring. Where he sat straighter and his eyes seemed to twinkle for a second, all while his face remained passive. He’d been falling out of the habit of hiding his emotions over the past year, but sometimes he fell back into it. Tim had no idea what triggered it. Why sometimes he behaved like a normal human and other times his league training won out and he acted like a tiny emotionless assassin. Or tried to. Tim wasn’t fooled anymore. How could he have ever thought Damian was actually emotionless? God he was such an asshole to the kid.

“Very well,” the kid said, nodding.

“Cool,” Tim said, returning his attention to the tablet he’d been pretending to mess with all during dinner.

After that, every morning Tim and Damian went for a run. Sometimes they’d run to one of the parks with workout equipment and work out there. Other times they found a nice place to practice acrobatics. Usually, though, they returned to the apartment to spar.

It was fun. Tim wished he had a bo staff, and he could tell Damian was sorely missing his sword, but they both had fun with simple hand-to-hand combat. Their apartment was very small. There was a decent amount of space between the couch and the kitchen island, and when they pushed the furniture against the wall, they got an adequate amount of space for a simple spar. They couldn’t incorporate flips or other noisy moves, being on the fourth floor and all, but it was still fun. After a few weeks, the rust on Tim’s moves began to wear off. Damian’s too, not that the little punk would ever admit to having been just as rusty as Tim.

\----

June flew by just as quickly as every other month had. The boys settled into a very nice routine. Tim was going to miss having the brat hanging out in his office every afternoon once school started back up. The brat didn’t need to know that, though. What would he say to hearing Tim had become… attached? Attached to Damian.

Shit. He was attached to Damian.

He already knew he loved the brat. Hell, he kind of already knew that before this entire ordeal. Or at least, he knew he didn’t hate him. He’d definitely have been upset if the kid died. That was something, right? Now though. Ha.

What was he even going to do when they returned to Gotham? Tim lived on his own. Usually. Was this how Dick felt when Bruce returned and he left? Fuck. Now he understood why Dick had favored Damian over Tim, anyway. Damian was a cute little assassin kid who somehow wormed his way in and made everyone love him, despite how absolutely pretentiously annoying he was.

Tim didn’t think the sentiment was reciprocated, though. At least, he hadn’t thought that.

July 19th came quietly, just like he was hoping it’d do. Celebrating his birthday was never something he did. Usually everyone around him forgot it was even happening, which was fine with Tim. He hated being the center of attention. Hell, last year he’d even forgot it was happening.

Besides, as Damian pointed out on _his_ birthday, this universe was two months behind theirs. So technically, he had turned 17 two months prior. Or, specifically, 44 days prior. So, was his birthday on actually June 5th now? Eh. His fake birth certificate still said July 19th, so he might as well stick with that. Not like it even mattered, anyway.

He got through his morning with Damian and the first few hours of work without hearing a single ‘Happy Birthday.’ It was a relief, actually. He thought he was going to get away with it.

But of course, in a world with Paul Blackwell, that was impossible.

Tim should have been suspicious when Paul called a meeting for noon. How dumb was Tim? He was supposed to be a detective.

He didn’t even suspect anything until he walked into the conference room to be shouted at by everyone on his floor.

“Surprise! Happy Birthday!” a chorus of voices cheered, causing Tim to jump slightly. Tiff laughed and handed him a ridiculous hat that said 'Birthday Boy' on it.

Tim groaned, “I am not wearing that, but thanks everyone. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Not every day your boss turns 19,” Rick said, one of Tim’s direct employees.

“I suppose not,” Tim said with a grin. It was kind of funny. He was less than half the age than most of the people in the room, the absolute youngest, and the second most superior person. He was certainly used to it, but not everyone was. And it _was_ amusing, looking in from outside.

“Congrats, Tim, you can now buy cigarettes in Alabama,” Tiff piped up.

“And Utah and Alaska,” Tim added.

“You better not,” Paul said, pointing an accusing finger at Tim, “Legal age here is 21, bud.”

“Put the hat on and come cut the cake,” Tiffany demanded. Tim finally looked at the conference table, which had been decorated with a ridiculous birthday themed table cloth and had an impressive spread of lunch food and a huge cake. The cake read, ‘Happy Birthday Tim!’ in frosting. How sweet. They actually planned this. In advance. That was… very touching.

Begrudgingly, Tim did as he was told and cut the cake. At least they didn’t subject him to the happy birthday song.

He spent the next hour chatting with various colleagues of his about random topics. Most asked him what he had planned to celebrate, to which he replied ‘nothing.’ Some were concerned about that, thinking that it was absolutely insane he didn’t celebrate his birthday, others were, thankfully, accepting of the answer.

It was weird. Tim had been there ten months and never once had they had a birthday party midday like this. In ten months, most people that work on their floor had to have had a birthday. Why was his so special? Even Paul’s had passed by without a party being thrown. Were they seriously just making a big deal of it because he was still a teenager?

Was this a party for a child?

“What’s that face for?” Paul asked, snapping Tim from his thoughts.

Tim shook his head and gave Paul one of his Tim Wayne smiles. “Oh, nothing. Thanks for the party, Paul.”

“Thank Tiffany, she planned it. I just approved the cost,” Paul said with a wink, “now drop that fake smile and tell me what’s up.”

“You’re the worst,” Tim mumbled. Seriously, almost no one could tell when his smiles were fake. How could Paul read him so well? “I was just thinking that in ten months this is the first birthday party we’ve had at work.”

Paul laughed and clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder, “Well, we usually celebrate people’s birthdays after hours.”

“Oh,” Tim said, scrunching his eyebrows. Why change it up for- “Oh,” he said again, laughing, “but it’s kind of weird to use a teenager’s birthday as an excuse to drink.”

“Hey, using it as an excuse to take a long lunch on the clock while eating cake is fun, too,” Paul consoled, “Maybe we should celebrate like this more often.”

“Yeah, this was pretty great,” Tim said, honestly. He did hate being the center of attention, but at the same time… It was nice. Having an important adult-figure in his life not forget. Alfred never forgot. Not ever. But everyone else? Well. They were busy. “Thanks.”

Paul patted Tim’s shoulder again and ended the party with a joking, “Okay, that’s enough partying on the company’s dime. Back to work.”

Damian sauntered into the building just before 5, as he normally did. Tim saw him making his way toward his office when Paul shouted out, “Hey, kid!”

He saw Damian’s face twitch before he plastered on a smile and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Blackwell.”

His boss walked toward Damian and said, “There’s a ton of cake in the break room, help yourself.” Then, he continued walking past, patting the brat on the shoulder as he went by.

“Drake,” Damian greeted, once he’d done his Damian thing and rolled his eyes.

“He’s not kidding,” Tim said as the brat pulled out his drawing supplies, “He’s gonna make us take home the leftovers, too. That’ll be fun to bring on the subway.”

“That will prevent us from having to bake a cake ourselves,” Damian offered as he flipped through his book.

Tim merely raised an eyebrow. Sure, he had baked a cake for Damian’s birthday, but come on the brat’s just a kid. And his last birthday had been kind of shitty. His mom had absolutely abandoned him with his dad who immediately locked him in his bedroom while he ran off to figure things out. Kid kinda deserved a cake.

Damian didn’t look up, so Tim just let the conversation fall as he got back to work. Not even five minutes later, however, Paul came back to the floor and marched straight to Tim’s office.

“All right, it’s 5pm and that means you’re leaving,” he announced loudly, “Bye, Tim. Have a nice weekend.”

Tim startled. “What? But I have-”

“Nope. You have nothing. Get out. Happy birthday.”

“But, Paul-” Tim tried, only to be cut off again.

“Damian,” Paul said, turning to the brat, “make sure he leaves. Bring that cake with you guys.”

“Yes sir,” Damian said with a smirk.

“This is ridiculous,” Tim mumbled as he saved his work and shut down his computer. “Who kicks employees out like that?”

Somehow, Tim and Damian managed to transport the cake back to the apartment without dropping it or squishing it. Tim still isn’t sure how, subways are packed during the rush.

Once at home, Tim started thinking about what to fix for dinner. With an extra hour to do so, he could make something more complex, but Damian cut his train of thought when he said, “I ordered pizza. It will be here at 7.”

“You what?” Tim demanded, “I didn’t say you could-”

“Timothy,” Damian interrupted, “It’s already done.”

Grumbling, Tim pulled out his laptop and retreated to the couch. Pizza. Fucking pizza. Tim hated the stupid vegetarian pizzas they always ordered. Black olives and mushrooms and peppers. Ugh. Kicked out of work early and now pizza. Great.

Damian answered the door at 7 and accepted the pizza. The delivery man had already left before Tim realized he should give the brat a twenty to pay for the pizza. Huh. He must have charged it to Tim’s credit card, then.

“You ordered two pizzas?” Tim asked incredulously when he went to the counter for a piece. Ordering pizza for delivery was already stupid expensive, but two pizzas? Good grief.

“Of course,” Damian said after peeking inside both boxes. He pushed one toward Tim and said, “This one is yours.”

Tim gave him a skeptical look and opened the offered box. Why would one be just his? Oh.

It was Hawaiian pizza. His favorite.

He hadn’t had Hawaiian pizza once since coming to New York. It was always just cheaper to buy a whole vegetarian pizza. Damian didn’t even want meat on half the pizza, claiming that the very presence of the meat tainted the entire pie.

How did Damian even know what his favorite pizza was? They’d never talked about it. Surely he knew, though. Right? There’s no way he ordered this pizza without knowing it was his favorite, especially with how pineapple on pizza was one of those things people either loved or hated. It wouldn’t have been a pizza to pick when trying to decide which meat pizza to pick for Tim.

“Is it to your liking?” Damian questioned while he pulled a piece of his own veggie pizza.

“Uh,” Tim said, trying to snap out of the weird little haze he’d fallen into, “Yeah. Thanks.”

Damian nodded and took his pizza to the couch, so Tim pulled three slices onto his plate and joined the brat. When he sat down, Damian handed him the remote and all Tim could do was stare at it in his hands for a good minute before he finally chose a crime show for them to watch. _Law & Order_. Damian never let Tim pick TV. Movies, sure. When they had an impromptu movie night, but never television shows when they were just sitting around watching TV.

After dinner, Tim put the left overs away and pulled out his laptop to continue working on his summer classes. He got so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice Damian until the child was standing directly in front of him, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

“Oh,” Tim said, startled, “you got me a present?”

“Of course. It is the tradition.”

Tim set his laptop to the side and took the gift out of the brat’s hands. “You didn’t have to do that, Dames.”

“Tt. Don’t be ridiculous, Timothy,” he said, turning away to go hide behind his sketchbook on the other side of the couch.

Heh. It’s hilarious how much like his father Damian was. He’s just a bit younger, so he’s not as good at hiding the emotions that embarrass him. Tim turned his attention to the nicely wrapped gift and read the little tag Damian had attached with a bow. ‘Happy 17th, Tim,’ it read.

The teen carefully untied the bow and unwrapped the gift. He had never been one to just rip open gifts, carelessly shredding apart the paper. He had been raised with manners, after all. Class.

Removing the wrapping revealed the product box. All Tim wanted to do was cradle the box. Very carefully, though, he cut the tape on the box with his finger nail and opened the lid, pulling out the item inside. It had been so long since he’d touched a real camera.

“How did you even afford this?” Tim asked hesitantly, fully expecting to hear the little demon say ‘I used your credit card, of course.’ Even if he’d done that, even though the $400 charge was going to majorly screw up their budget for the month, Tim was probably going to keep the camera. It was the cheapest model of Canon DSLRs, and only had one basic lens, but it was a real camera and Tim hadn’t realized how badly he missed his until he had a new one in his hands.

“You know the Sanchez family upstairs?” Damian asked.

“No?” Tim said, turning his attention to his brother and away from the magnificent piece of technology in his hands, “Do you?”

“Yes. Of course. They have a daughter who attended school with me. She was in the 4th grade last year. They have a dog and I walked him most afternoons last year once I got home from school. They paid me $10 a week to do that. Then I saved up the pocket change you have been giving me.”

Tim furrowed his brows, honestly absolutely confused. “You’ve been saving up all year to buy me this camera? Damian, I gave you that money for lunch and stuff. You didn’t skip meals, did you?”

“I told you you needed a real camera, Drake,” Damian said, almost offended, “And I knew you would not spend that kind of money on yourself. You’re quick to drop cash on me, but never on yourself. So yes, I did. And no, I did not skip meals. I merely purchased cheaper meals.”

Smiling now, Tim set the camera aside and scooted over to where Damian was sitting. The brat put his arms up in defense, clearly expecting the hug Tim was about to give him. “You’re my favorite, little brother.”

“Yes, Timothy, the feeling is mutual. Unhand me,” Damian whined, his face bright red, when Tim wrapped him up in a hug. Tim squeezed tighter and let go. “Happy birthday,” he murmured.

\----

Tim spent the weekend playing with his new camera. The boys went for several walks to various areas of the city, including in Central Park, so he could take pictures of everything around them. It was the most fun he’d had since coming to New York and this weird universe, and the first time he did something for himself and not Damian or the overall goal of returning to their universe. And that realization hit him kind of hard.

He was wasting his time having fun instead of working on getting them back home.

For the next week, he redoubled his efforts in his studies, trying to piece together how it was the multiverse worked. He had a fairly basic understanding of physics now and was finally delving into the realm of quantum physics. He had even found some sci-fi explanations on how a multiverse would work and was beginning to dig deeper into those theories to see if there were any merit to them, or if they were just written up by authors with no real foundation in quantum physics.

Tim needed to get them home.

At work one day, he spent a good ten minutes just staring at his desktop, where he had saved the only picture of their entire family. It was a good photograph. How on earth Dick had managed to catch it, Tim still wasn’t sure.

It had been a weird day, really. One of the rare occasions all four boys were under the same roof _with_ Bruce. Especially since Bruce and Jason were rarely willingly together. Bruce actually hated it when any of the boys had any kind of contact with Jason. Yet, every once in a while Jason showed up, usually at the invitation of someone for a mission, and no one bothered to kick him out.

In the picture, Dick had one hand on the camera, taking a selfie, and his other arm wrapped around Damian. The brat had a feigned annoyed expression on his face that wasn’t at all masking his pleased smile.

Jason had Tim in a headlock and was grinning at the camera, showing off his prisoner, and Tim was laughing. Jason had been tickling him and demanding Tim cry uncle, but in the picture, it just looked like he was having a good time. In reality, Tim had been kicking at Jason’s legs trying to break free without actually hurting him.

Bruce was standing right in the middle of them all wearing one of his stupid little flat smiles that, to the outside world, looked like an indifferent expression. Those who knew him, however, knew it was as genuine of a smile as Bruce usually got.

The memory caused something deep inside of Tim to ache. Moment like that, blissful happy moments of family time were so rare. So unexpected. And so longed for. Now. Now he might never have a moment like that again, because he couldn’t figure out the stupid multiverse. This picture was all he had left of those moments.

“Is that your family?” Paul asked from beside Tim, causing the teen to jump. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed his boss enter.

“Uh,” Tim paused to clear his throat, “Yeah. My brothers Jason and… and Richard,” he said, pointing to each person, “And my dad.”

Paul smiled and took a seat across from Tim, “That’s a good photo.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” Tim said with a sigh. He moved his mouse to open up his latest report on the department, which he assumed the man had come to discuss.

Instead, Paul asked, “What’s been eating at you, Tim?”

Tim frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Paul said forcefully, “you have been moping around all week. Something’s bothering you and I want to know what it is. If you don’t talk about it, it won’t get better.”

It still surprised Tim when Paul noticed those kinds of things. Honestly, he was more used to people not noticing than he was people paying attention. Dick had, at one point in time, paid attention, but ever since Damian came into the picture Tim hadn’t been seen. Before Dick, there was no one.

Bruce… Bruce sometimes paid attention. When he was in the right mood. When Jason or Damian weren’t demanding all his attention, be it knowingly or not.

Tim was used to being ignored. Dealing with things on his own. That was his place in the family, after all. The kid no one chose. The one there to help everyone else. That was fine. He liked his place.

Now, here was Paul, a guy he’s known for less than a year. _His boss._ Paying so much attention to him and his wellbeing that he noticed Tim had been spiraling downward into his depression. Tim hadn’t even noticed he was getting that bad.

“It’s just,” Tim started, breaking the several minute long silence his thoughts created, “I-”

Paul leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, signaling for Tim to continue with the soft expression on his face.

“Damian is growing up,” Tim said as he locked eyes with his boss. “He’s growing up and Bruce isn’t here to see it. He won’t get to see his son grow up.” And it’s Tim’s fault. Because he can’t figure out how to get them home.

“Either of his sons,” Paul added gently. “You’re growing into quite the young man yourself, Tim.”

“And Dick!” Tim said, ignoring Paul’s comment, “Dick poured so much into Damian. Spent so much time with him, helping him through a really hard time after his mother… and- and Dick isn’t here to see Damian grow up, either. Why me? Why do I get to raise him, watch him grow and learn, and turn into the man I know he’ll be one day and they don’t?” They’d be so proud of the kid he was now.

By the end of his rant, Tim had to pause to calm himself back down. He was breathing too fast and was on the verge of tears. Where the hell was this even coming from? He had been upset about not being able to return home. Not this. Right?

Paul took a deep breath before answering. “Life doesn’t always make sense. The things that happen… sometimes it doesn’t seem like there’s a reason. Instead of dwelling on what could have been, just be thankful for what was.”

Tim nodded and sat back in his chair. He wanted Paul’s words to comfort him, but they didn’t. How could he just stop dwelling on anything? That wasn’t how thinking worked. It was impossible to just turn off thoughts and replace them with better thoughts. Impossible to just flip from a foul mood to a happy one.

“I bet,” Paul said with a smile, “if your dad could see you now, your older brothers, they’d be insanely proud of you. I’m sure they already were, but they’d be proud of the brother you’re being for Damian. I know I’m proud, and I haven’t known you as long as they did.”

Tim huffed a laugh. Would Bruce be proud? Was Bruce _ever_ proud of Tim? He’d be insanely proud of Damian, that’s for sure. The little brat was really coming out of his shell and turning into a real boy. Trademark, Disney Corporation.

“You know what would help, though?” Paul asked after another moment had passed.

Instead of answering, Tim just looked up at Paul questioningly. He didn’t trust his voice not to quaver.

“Letters.”

“What?” Tim asked, confused.

“Write your dad a letter. Whenever you want to tell him something about yourself or Damian, write him a letter.”

“He’s dead,” Tim deadpanned. Of course, it wasn’t true. But it might as well have been.

“Doesn’t matter. Write as if you’ll see him again one day. As if he’s only a quick email away. Tell him about your day or month or whatever. Tell him about what Damian’s doing. Share pictures or videos. Writing out what you wish you could tell him will help you sort through your thoughts and feelings so much better than just sitting here letting it all fester. It doesn’t matter that he’ll never read them, what matters is you wrote them.”

But Bruce _could_ read them, one day, Tim realized. Once Tim figured out multiversal travel, he and Damian could go home and Bruce could read the letters. He could watch videos of Damian and his stupid cat. Look at artwork the brat made. Read his essays and watch him sing ridiculous Christmas songs in the school’s winter concert. Watch him perform on stage in all his lisping glory. Bruce _could_ watch Damian grow up, Tim just had to document it.

“Thanks,” Tim whispered as the realization hit him. There was so much he wanted to tell Bruce, and all he had to do was write it down.

On the way home from work that day, Tim stopped by Best Buy and picked up a flash drive. If he was going to write letters, he might as well keep them all in one spot with the pictures and videos he was going to share.

He decided to keep the project a secret from Damian. Knowing the brat, he’d want to censor Tim’s writing. Keep certain events secret from their family, like the various activities Damian has done that proves he is, indeed, an 11-year-old child. Bruce would want to see it all, Tim knew. Dick, especially, would want to see it all, and Tim intended to document every moment from now on.

After Damian went to bed that night, Tim stayed up late writing his first letter.


	17. One Year

August 8th officially marked one year since Tim and Damian were thrust into this strange new universe.

Tim had assumed the day would bring along a lot of depressing thoughts. Angst filled conversations between him and Damian. A sad day where they dress in all black and mope around the apartment feeling sorry for themselves.

Except, none of that happened.

That morning they got up like they did any other weekday and went for a run. After, they ate their breakfast together and went on to work and theater school. After, Damian went to Tim’s office and continued working on a pencil drawing one of Tim’s coworkers had commissioned of his recently passed dog.

Which, that was pretty neat. Not the whole dead dog thing, but the Damian’s now a professional artist thing. Tim could tell how much that pleased the brat. His cheeks turned a little rosy whenever Tim mentioned it while he tried to suppress a smile. The little punk deserved it, too. He was an amazing artist.

It wasn’t until dinner that the topic was even brought up. Between bites of lasagna, Damian casually said, “It’s been a year.”

“Yep,” Tim said simply, nodding.

And that was it.

Maybe they should have been more upset about it. It would make sense for them to be more upset about it, but they weren’t. It’s not like Tim didn’t want to go home. He did. He missed his family greatly, he missed Red Robin, he missed Wayne Enterprises, his friends, his apartment. Everything. But it’d been a year, and the deep ache that had been there upon their stranding here had begun to dull. He could still feel it, feel the hole in his chest caused by being away from everyone, but it was getting easier to ignore it.

Tim really wasn’t sure how to take that revelation.

\----

September came, and with it, so did the new school year. Damian had gotten into one of the better middle schools in Manhattan. It wasn’t the best, but it had a pretty solid gifted program, which Damian had easily been accepted into. If he did well in the program all throughout middle school, he could attend one of the gifted high schools.

That was quite a while out, though, and neither Tim nor Damian chose to even think about that possibility. They might have been okay with it being a year but planning three more years out was still a bit much.

Damian’s first day of 6th grade went a lot smoother than his first day of 5th grade. For starters, he didn’t fight Tim about attending. The brat was actually kind of excited. He had done research on his new school and had found several clubs he wanted to join, including the drama club, art club, and fencing club.

Tim was all for it. Friends was what the kid needed, and clubs were probably the best way for him to make some.

The middle school required they take a train, so Tim and Damian did that together. Because of all the after-school activities the brat would be participating in, he would never need to take a train by himself home.

And yes, he realized that he, at much younger than 11, had been taking public transportation alone, but that still didn’t make it right. Tim should have had supervision. If there had been someone caring in his life he would have never put himself in danger like that, because that person would have stopped it. Tim was going to be that caring person in Damian’s life and he was going to make sure the brat was safe, even if that meant not allowing him to do things at 11 Tim had done at 7.

So, since there were no clubs on the first day, Tim left work early to go pick the squirt up. Tim found Damian sitting on a wall, playing a game on his phone. Good sign. He wasn’t pouting or stewing in anger or anything.

“Hey kid,” Tim said as he approached the younger boy.

“Tim,” Damian greeted, not looking up from his game, “I’m almost done. I’ve been stuck on this level for a week and I think I’ve got it this time.”

That made Tim laugh while he watched the kid play what looked like some block game where Damian had to destroy the blocks with little balls he shot around. After a minute, the boy finally finished the level and looked up triumphantly. “Done?” Tim asked with a quirk of his lips.

Instead of answering, Damian jumped down off the ledge and started walking toward the subway station.

“How was your first day?” Tim questioned, catching up to the brat.

“It was acceptable.”

“Oh?” Tim prodded. He knew Damian well enough to know that ‘acceptable’ was Damian speak for ‘good.’

Damian nodded and readjusted his backpack.

Tim sighed, realizing the brat wasn’t going to elaborate. “What did you like about it?”

“The teachers are all imbeciles, of course, but not all of them are complete idiots.”

“Okay,” Tim said, furrowing his brows. What, exactly, was the difference between idiot and imbecile?

“The other children do not appear to be of any concern, either.”

“That’s good.” At least, Tim thought that was good. “Make any friends?”

The fact that Damian hesitated in responding was an answer in itself. Tim grinned. He was so hoping the brat would make friends.

“Do you remember Molly Blackwell?” Damian asked.

“Yes, of course. She’s my boss’s daughter.”

“Well,” Damian said slowly, as if he were embarrassed or nervous to share with Tim, “She is attending this school and invited me to sit with her at lunch. Two of her friends were in my theater program this summer.”

“That’s great, Damian,” Tim said, still grinning.

“Yes. They are acceptable lunch companions.”

The topic shifted from there, but even while they moved on to discussing the latest episode of _The Flash_ , Tim couldn’t stop smiling about the fact that his little brother, Damian Wayne, had made friends with a bunch of little girls his age. He couldn’t wait to tell Bruce about this.

\----

School started for Tim the day after it started for Damian. He was taking seven in person classes this semester. Four met on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays, and the other three met on Tuesday and Thursdays. With such an accelerated graduation schedule, he didn’t have the luxury of really picking professors or even his preferred time slots, but somehow it worked out without screwing with his overall schedule.

One of Damian’s little friends happened to live two buildings over and her mom had offered to bring Damian home for Tim each afternoon. The kids were both in clubs after school, and she insisted it wasn’t any trouble. Since Damian had agreed to behave himself for the woman, Tim gratefully accepted the offered help.

Between that and his own classes ending in the early afternoon, he was actually able to go into the office for a few hours every afternoon and still made it home by 6:30.

Most of his work for Roberson Industries he did via telework, though. He wrote his reports while on the train, reviewed his employees’ work between classes, and held phone conferences during his lunch break. Anything else he needed to do he did for a couple hours in the morning before Damian woke up, or after dinner.

On the second Wednesday of the semester, Tim was sitting in a fairly quiet, for New York at least, coffee shop near campus nibbling at a sandwich while he hammered out the details of a new project with Paul over video conference.

“But that’s what I’m trying to explain,” Tim said impatiently, “it’s completely pointless to pull David off-“

“Tim,” a girl exclaimed as soon as she walked through the coffee house door, startling the teen mid-sentence, “So crazy to run into you!”

He looked over at the girl in confusion, before he finally recognized her as one of the more annoying girls in his Advanced Experimental Physics class.

“Oh my god, I was just telling Jordan we needed to get together with you sometime,” she said as she sat down at Tim’s table.

“Um.” Tim blinked and looked back down at the screen where Paul had a rather amused smile on his face, “Can you give me one second, Paul?”

The girl, Kate or something, lit up and peeked around Tim’s screen. “Oooh, are you talking to someone? Who is he? Hi Paul!”

Tim turned the screen so she couldn’t read what he was working on. “I muted the mic already,” he said flatly, “Could we maybe do this later? I’m busy right now.”

“Hey, Tim?” he heard Paul say through his headphones. When Tim returned his attention to the computer screen, the man continued, “This isn’t pressing. We can finish the discussion when you come in this afternoon. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Paul-“ Tim tried, but his boss had already terminated the video call. Returning his attention to the annoyingly bubbly girl in front of him he said, “Kate, I really am busy.”

“It’s Kyla, and- Oh hey! Thanks, Jordan,” she said, taking a plate being offered to her by a guy Tim recognized as another student in their class.

“Hi, Tim,” Jordan said, taking the last seat at the table, “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Jordan.”

Tim gave him an unamused smile and resigned himself to whatever the heck this was.

“So,” Kyla said after a bite of sandwich, “Have you guys read ahead in the syllabus? Because I did and I saw there’s a group project we have to do during the last half of the semester and I asked the professor if we got to pick groups and he said we did and that it was groups of three so I was thinking we three should work together.”

Tim felt out of breath just listening to her ramble. “Why me?” he asked boredly.

“Well,” she said, as if it were so clear only an idiot wouldn’t know why they should work together, “you’re obviously the smartest kid in the class so that means you just have to be in my group.”

Great. Someone who wants to just piggyback off Tim’s work. “How did you reach that conclusion?”

“Because,” she exasperated, “You’re like 15 and you’re in Advanced Physics.”

The 17-year-old looked off toward the wall in disbelief. Or annoyance? Both. It was definitely both. “I’m 19, thanks.”

“Yeah, you’re not lying right now,” she said sarcastically, “Regardless, you’re literally the only one not old enough to drink in the class.”

Tim just blinked at her. No one had questioned his age. In the entire year he’d been pretending to be two years older, no one had doubted his story.

“Actually,” Jordan added, “I’m 20.”

“Cool!” the girl said, “So the two smartest boys in the class and me! We’d be a great team.”

“I will not do all the work,” Tim asserted.

“As if I’d even let you,” she scoffed, “Please. I love physics.”

“Right. Fine, whatever. I have a class to get to, though,” Tim said as he shoved his laptop into his bag.

“Wait,” Kyla shouted after him as he started to leave, “Can I have your phone number so we can text about this?”

Tim looked up at the ceiling, as if it could help him escape faster. “Fine,” he huffed, turning around. He rattled off the number quickly as she entered it in, then internally groaned as his phone buzzed with a new text message.

As he walked back to campus, all he could think about was how much he was going to regret agreeing to work with Kyla Meyers.

\----

Jordan was actually a pretty cool guy. He was kind of a nerd, but so was Tim so they got along well. Tim realized they had three classes together, so they started sitting together during those classes and hanging out in the gaps between.

It fascinated Jordan that Tim had a ‘real’ job. “Why are you even in college?” he asked between the back-to-back classes they had together, “You already make good money. What’s the point?”

Tim shrugged, “This isn’t the field I want to work in forever.”

“So you want to work in physics? How is that cooler than hacking?” Jordan asked disbelieving.

True. Cyber security was a pretty awesome field. “I’ve always been interested in how our universe works.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” Jordan joked, “You could study on your own.”

“Yeah, true, but I wouldn’t get lab access if I did that. I want to switch career fields, anyway. Do research full time. That would be fun.”

“You make better money now, I bet,” Jordan pointed out.

Tim waved a hand dismissively as he collected his bag off the floor. The professor had finally showed up to unlock the classroom door and let all the lingering students in. “Well, then I can do both jobs. Whatever.”

“Wow. A workaholic weirdo.”

Tim shot Jordan a bright smile. “That’s me.”

Jordan rolled his eyes and returned the smile. “Just channel that focus on our group project, please.”

“I still don’t get why Kyla picked me,” Tim admitted as he took his seat.

Taking a set in the chair next to him, Jordan shrugged. “She does that. When she decides someone’s worth her time, she tends to just attach herself with little regard to whether that person wants her around. She’s pretty cool, once you get to know her, though.”

“Hmm,” Tim said, unconvinced.

“Just give her a chance,” Jordan said simply, just as the professor announced that class was starting.

Tim could do that, he supposed. There was no harm in making friends, after all.

\----

A week later, Tim came home after work as he always did, but wasn’t immediately greeted by a tiny brat sitting at the counter doing homework, or chilling on the couch watching television. No, when Tim walked in and said “Hey, kid,” like he did every afternoon, there was no response.

He quickly looked to the door of the bathroom and bedrooms and found them all open, meaning the brat wasn’t using the restroom or hiding in his bedroom. Strange. Down on the floor, as expected, was the preteen’s backpack, so he had indeed made it home from school that day.

Tim might have also set up notifications on the tracking app they used that sent him an alert whenever Damian left or arrived at home or school. He most definitely was not an over protective parent. No. Just a brother who was aware what kind of trouble an 11-year-old former-assassin could get into. That was it.

“Damian?” Tim said as he put his bag down next to the brat’s and closed the door. Where the hell was the kid? He never got an alert the kid had left after he arrived back home, so he had to have been in the apartment. Unless he left his phone behind? Why on earth would he do that?

That’s when Tim heard a raspy cough followed by a quiet sniffle coming from the couch. He frowned and approached the couch so he could see over the back and investigate the source of the sound.

There, curled up into a tiny little ball in the corner of their sectional sofa was his little brother, completely out of it. “Damian?” Tim said again, this time much more softly as he rounded the couch. His little face was scrunched up in what Tim assumed was pain, or misery, which was only made worse looking by his pale skin and bright red nose.

Damian merely mumbled something incoherent before rubbing at his face and sinking further into the pillow he was lying on.

Tim crouched down in front of the brat and held his hand out to check his temperature, then hesitated. He’d never seen Damian asleep like this. Usually he slept incredibly stiffly, and very lightly. At least, that’s how he slept when Tim was around. He had no idea how the brat slept at night when he was alone in his own bedroom. How would the kid react to a sudden touch when he’s so out of it?

Readying himself to jump back and defend against an attack, Tim touched Damian’s forehead with his knuckles. Instead of attack, Damian just frowned and furrowed his brow a bit more than it already was. Tim moved his hand to the kid’s cheek and frowned. He was really hot.

“Stop,” Damian whined, swatting Tim’s hand away.

He moved his hand to the kid’s shoulder and said “Damian, why didn’t you tell me you felt sick?” This level of sick didn’t just hit him suddenly after school. This was something the kid had to have been feeling all day, if not longer.

Damian opened his eyes and looked at Tim blearily, blinking slowly a few times. “M’not sick,” he mumbled, before shutting them again.

Tim snorted. “You’re slurring your words. You never do that.”

“I’m not sick,” he said forcefully, clearly enunciating each word with purpose.

“You look awful. I bet you feel even worse.”

The brat scowled. “Go away, Drake,” he said, turning over so his face was tucked into the back of the couch.

With a sigh, Tim stood and went over to the kitchen where they kept a simple first aid kit under the sink. Inside was some pain killers and a thermometer. He had figured it was the best place to keep the items, since their bathroom didn’t have a medicine cabinet.

“Turn around and put this under your tongue,” he instructed, back at Damian’s side.

The brat grumbled but did as requested.

When the thermometer beeped, Tim pulled it out. “102.3. That’s really high, Damian.”

“M’fine.”

“Okay,” Tim said, standing again. The kid was seriously out of it, not acting like himself at all, with the mumbling, and his temperature was just over that threshold of ‘serious’ for a kid. He should probably take him to the hospital. Or call the nurse hotline or whatever. But at the same time, no, Tim was perfectly capable of handling fevers and sickness.

He filled a glass of water and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen. “Damian, I want you to sit up and drink this.” When the kid begrudgingly obliged and sipped at the water, Tim asked, “What other symptoms do you have?”

“I’m not sick,” he insisted.

“Damian.”

Damian scowled. “It’s just a fever. I’m fine.”

“You need to tell me when you’re this sick. Fevers have to be monitored so they don’t get too high.”

“I’m fine. No need to get all worked up. I’ll be good for school again tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not,” Tim snapped, “you’re staying home tomorrow. You should have stayed home today. How long have you felt bad?”

“I’m fine,” Damian rasped out, clearly holding back a cough.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. How the fuck would Dick have dealt with this? Mr. high-and-mighty Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, too superior for something as pathetic as a sickness, succumbing to a simple virus and refusing to admit it.

He sat on the coffee table so they’d be closer to eye level. He didn’t want to loom over the brat in a threatening manner. “Dames,” he said slowly, trying to keep all annoyance and anger out of his voice. The kid was already on the defense, aggression wouldn’t help. “It’s just you and me right now, no one else is here. Right?”

The brat slumped a little, probably out of a desire to lie back down after spending so much energy fighting Tim, and gave the teen a questioning look. “Yes?”

“Do you trust me?” Tim asked, looking the kid straight in the eyes.

Damian held eye contact and narrowed his eyes. “Why?” he demanded.

Tim shook his head, refusing to explain himself. “Yes or no, do you trust me?”

The brat looked away and pursed his lips before finally rasping out a quiet and quick, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he said, leaning forward to turn Damian’s head back to look at him, “It’s just you and me here. No one else to see or know, and you said you trust me.”

Damian scrunched his brow again and finally gave into the cough he was holding back. It sounded painful, and after he was done he took another sip of water and plopped back down on the pillow he’d previously been using.

“What other symptoms do you have?” Tim eventually asked, assuming this was Damian admitting to being sick.

“I threw up,” he whispered, “and I ache. Not like the flu, though, just in the way a fever causes.”

“How long have you had symptoms?”

Damian rubbed at his face and finally said, “It hit me last night. Well, early this morning. I felt fine yesterday.”

“You went for a run feeling like crap? Sparred me? You went to school like this?” Tim asked, growing angry again. How could the demon think this was appropriate? How didn’t Tim even notice? Was he seriously that inattentive?

“I’ve done more with worse,” Damian snapped, “I’m fine. Go away.”

Of course. This all stemmed back to his league training. Everything fucking stemmed back to his damn league training. All the hot anger Tim felt toward Damian drained away and seeped into a different, colder rage. When they got back to Gotham, Tim was going to track down Talia and Ra’s Al Ghul himself and do everything in his power to fuck with them.

Tim stood, needing to get away for a little bit to fully calm down. “I’ll run to the store and buy something with electrolytes. Any kind of food you think you can eat that we don’t have?”

Damian shook his head, then seemed to reconsider and said, “Those popsicles made from real fruit. The lime ones.”

“Sure. I’ll be back in half an hour. We’ll check your temp again. If your fever gets any higher you’ll have to take medicine.”

At the store, Tim wandered over to the children’s medicine section just out of curiosity and noticed the Pedialyte. He compared the drink meant specifically for sick and dehydrated children to the Gatorade he had picked out and realized that the children’s drink would be a much better choice than the sports drink, but there was no way in hell Damian would willingly drink something named “Pedialyte,” even if the label said it was for adults, too.

Grinning, Tim realized the color of the drinks were similar enough that, if switched, it would be difficult to tell wasn’t the real drink. He was sure the tastes were nothing alike, but hopefully Damian wouldn’t be familiar enough with the taste of the red flavor to notice. The brat usually drank the blue or purple flavors, sometimes green.

Just before he got to the apartment, Tim dumped out the contents of one of the Gatorades he bought and replaced it with the Pedialyte. Because he was smart, he went ahead and purchased a couple of each, just in case Damian wasn’t too sick to notice the wool being pulled over his eyes.

When Tim got back inside, he noticed the couch was empty and the bathroom door was shut. He decided not to listen in to see what the kid was doing. Hopefully he’d be honest now about how sick he really was.

Tim busied himself putting away the various items he’d bought where they belonged. Applesauce, popsicles, minute rice. Finally, Damian came out of the bathroom and stalked over to the island where he promptly sat down on a stool and placed his forehead directly on the cool granite counter.

“How are you feeling?” Tim asked, pulling the thermometer back out to check his temp.

Damian hummed, then said, “I’m fine.”

“You know it’s okay to be sick, right? Everyone in the world gets sick from time to time, including your dad.”

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled, pulling his arms up and tucking them under his head.

Tim tapped the brat’s head and held the thermometer out for him to take. “And, when there’s nothing important going on. No world to save or mountain to climb, it’s okay to give in and rest it off.”

Damian rolled his eyes and stuck the object under his tongue. When it beeped, Tim took it back and read, “102.1. Good. Do you want ice or no ice?” he asked, gesturing toward the Gatorade disguised Pedialyte.

“No ice.”

Amazingly, Damian didn’t make a face at the drink. Didn’t even question it when he took a few sips and made his way back over to the couch. When Tim pulled a blanket out from the closet and laid it out over Damian’s curled up little body, the boy looked up and said, “Tim?”

With a raise of his eyebrow Tim said, “Yeah?”

Damian grabbed the blanket and snuggled down into it, closing his eyes. “I feel like shit.”

“I know, buddy.”

Tim left Damian to sleep on the couch until well after dinner, which was a simple sandwich for Tim, so the smell wouldn’t upset Damian’s stomach more. He finally sent the brat off to sleep in his bed around 9, when he spent a few hours working on homework, anticipating missing the next day or two of classes.

In the morning, Damian wasn’t doing any better. His fever had at least dropped to 101, but he was still pretty much dead to the world, unable to stay awake more than 15 minutes or so at a time between hour long naps.

And, of course, the little brat tried to get ready for morning workout.

“Nu uh,” Tim scolded when Damian came out of his room wearing running clothes. His skin was still ghostly pale, like seriously he was almost as white as Tim, he was missing so much color. “You’re not doing anything to exert yourself today.”

“I’m fine,” Damian said, unconvincingly.

“I’m sure,” Tim said, rolling his eyes as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. “You’ll be even fine-er after you spend the day rotting your brain watching television and sleeping.”

“That’s not necessary,” Damian mumbled, going back to his room, hopefully to change back into PJs. Despite his protest, the brat seemed to relax a bit at Tim’s insistence he rest.

“Think you can stomach some breakfast?” Tim shouted, “Oatmeal or applesauce?”

“No,” Damian said, returning to the doorframe wearing his PJs. A batman t-shirt with matching pants. Adorable, really. Tim had bought him the outfit half as a joke, but it had quickly become Damian’s favorite set, considering Tim was pretty sure it was in every load of laundry he did for the squirt. Damian rarely left his room in pajamas, preferring to lounge around in his hoodies and jeans. “I’m going back to bed.”

Tim spent most the morning sitting on the end of the couch, after making sure Damian had a glass of his drink and some crackers within reach, should he want either. He’d called the boy’s school and emailed all his professors explaining that the kid was sick and neither of them would be attending classes that day.

The professors of Tim’s who had responded already had been incredibly understanding, two of them even emailing the slides for the day’s lecture. Paul was, of course, cool with Tim taking the day off. He’d even insisted Tim not work at all, no teleworking. Which, of course, was advice Tim wasn’t heeding. It was only a little work though. Like. Four hours, max. Maybe five.

Sometime around lunch, Damian came out of his room to use the bathroom, then lingered in the kitchen area while he seemed to decide where to go next. Tim asked him if he were hungry or anything, to which the brat just grunted and shook his head. When he returned to his room, Tim went back to writing a paper for one of his classes.

A moment later, however, Damian came back out of his room, wrapped up in his comforter. Tim had to stifle a smile when he glanced over at the boy, knowing that showing amusement would just embarrass his little brother and likely drive him back into his bedroom.

Damian shuffled past Tim and around the coffee table to fling himself on the couch. Tim had expected Damian to lie on the other end of the couch, but instead, the kid stood there for a second, eyeing the couch next to Tim with narrowed eyes. Or, more specifically, the pillow Tim had extracted from behind his back a while before and set next to him on the couch, not having a need for the damn thing taking up space between him and the couch.

Before Tim had considered it a possibility, because really, he just thought the brat would take the pillow away to his side, Damian walked over and plopped down right next to Tim, resting his head on said pillow.

Tim lifted his left arm up in surprise, one, not wanting it to get crushed by Damian, and two, not sure what the hell to do. Damian rarely, rarely opted to sit so close to him. In fact, Tim could count on one hand the number of times they’d sat within arm’s length of one another on the couch and have fingers left over. Two fingers left over, probably. And his thumb.

“Feeling any better today?” Tim asked, his arm still kind of awkwardly up and away from Damian, whose head was mere inches from his leg.

“No,” Damian groaned, snuggling his head further into the pillow as he pulled the comforter up around his neck, “Worse.”

Tim frowned and absently brushed the kid’s hair out of his eyes. “You need a haircut.”

Damian tensed at the contact, causing Tim to pause for a moment before he repeated the action. When Tim was a child, being comforted like this always made him feel better. He just never had anyone around to do it. While Damian certainly complained about not needing or wanting physical affection, his actions told a different story. Like any other normal child, he craved it, he just simply didn’t know how to respond to it.

“Tt,” Damian finally said as he slowly closed his eyes, "You're one to talk." After a moment more of Tim’s caressing, the boy let out a sigh and melted down into the couch, apparently content.

Wow.

Tim was Dick now. Yep. That was a thing.

It wasn’t that he’d just taken the role of their eldest brother, but he’d completely replaced the man now. Damian didn’t even behave this way around Dick, as far as Tim was aware. Surpassed, then? Damn.

Not only was Damian comfortable enough with Tim, trusting enough, to admit to being sick and show himself in such a weakened state, but he also accepted physical comfort for it. Happily. Actively sought it out, so it seemed.

Love you, too, you little demon, Tim thought.

 

The sound of ringing startled Tim awake. Holy crap, when had he fallen asleep? Tim was incredibly thankful for his Robin training, which prevented him from physically jumping, because his hand was still resting on Damian’s shoulder. The brat was, thankfully, still dead to the world. He could do without a panicked and sick 11-year-old.

His laptop was still ringing, so Tim looked down at the screen to see his own sleepy face staring back at him. Ugh. Kyla wanted to facetime.

Tim rubbed at his face and then ran his fingers through his hair. Even if he’d just woken up, he didn’t have to look like it. He clicked accept call. “Hey.”

 _“Tim!”_ Kyla squealed through Tim’s headphones. _“Dude, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t coming to class? Jordan wasn’t here either. I was all lonely.”_

“Sorry,” Tim said quietly, rolling his eyes, “can’t help it.”

_“What even are you doing that’s so important you missed seeing me?”_

“Ha,” Tim said sarcastically, “I’m looking after a sick kid.”

That seemed to give Kyla pause. _“Wait. What?”_

“What?” Tim asked absently while he opened up his email app to read the few he’d missed while napping.

_“You have a kid?!?”_

Tim smiled. “No.”

 _“Then where did you get a sick kid?”_ she demanded.

“Kidnapped one, obviously.”

_“Tim.”_

“Kyla,” he said, mimicking her stern tone. Then he grinned, turning the laptop just a bit so Damian’s mop of hair and sleeping face could be seen, since that was still all that was visible. “He’s my little brother.”

 _“Aww,”_ she cooed, _“So sweet. I didn’t know you lived at home still. I thought you were from Philadelphia.”_

“Of course I live at home. That’s the definition of home”

_“Oh, shut up Tim. I meant with your parents.”_

“I don’t.”

_“You don’t?”_

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’

 _“Then why are you watching your brother?”_ she exasperated.

“He’s sick,” Tim replied simply. Pushing this girl’s buttons was honestly so fun.

 _“Okay. Whatever, I’ll drop it,”_ she said, throwing her arms up dramatically. _“Text me next time you’re gonna miss class, okay?”_

“Sure thing, Mom.”

“Drake,” Damian mumbled, “Can you flirt with your girlfriend somewhere else?”

Tim moved his hand down to cover Damian’s mouth, hoping Kyla hadn’t heard that. Because, no. He wasn’t interested. Kyla was pretty damn annoying.

Besides, him dating right now would be massively weird. He was a minor still, but legally he was 19. That put him in this weird stage of, he can’t date girls his own age because it would be illegal, but then he didn’t think it right to date girls older, because he was still technically a minor and it wouldn’t be right. 18-year-olds. 18-year-olds were probably safe, since he was 17 now.

Regardless. They weren’t there permanently. Getting a girlfriend would be a terrible idea.

“ _What was that?_ ” Kyla asked.

“What?” Tim feigned ignorance. Just then, Damian took his revenge for covering his mouth. “Oh my god did you just _lick_ me, you little demon?”

Kyla burst out in laughter while Damian said, “Tt. Serves you right.”

Tim grabbed the brat’s blanket and pulled it down over his face. “The munchkin is awake now, I’ll talk to you later,” Tim said in way of a farewell, ending the call before Kyla could respond.

“I hate you,” Damian whined as he freed himself.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Tim said as he placed his hand on Damian’s forehead to check his fever. Even though it shouldn’t, it still surprised Tim that he could do that without being attacked. He could touch Damian without so much as a roll of the eyes or a swat of his hand.

Then, as if to prove Tim wrong, Damian suddenly bolted to the other side of the couch, looking wide eyed at Tim.

“Damian?” Tim questioned cautiously.

“You- you-” Damian stuttered, “Oh, no.” The horror in the boy’s tone was kind of frightening, if Tim were honest.

Tim shook his head in confusion. “You have to give me more than that. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You don’t have a spleen,” Damian declared desperately.

“And?”

“I’ll make you sick,” the boy said.

That’s when realization dawned on Tim. Damian knew Tim’s immune system was compromised, he just clearly didn’t understand how. “It’s just a virus, Damian, I’ll be fine. The spleen protects against infections, not viruses.”

Damian looked at Tim skeptically, obviously not convinced. “Besides,” Tim added, “My doctor still has me on antibiotics every day, so even if I do get sick it’s unlikely to progress to anything worse, okay? I’ll be fine.”

“Oh,” the kid whispered.

Tim huffed out a quiet laugh as Damian hesitantly retook his spot lying next to Tim.

“What?” the little one demanded, flipping onto his back to glare right up at Tim.

“I knew you cared,” he responded, brushing Damian’s hair back again, this time without so much of a twitch.

“Shut up, Drake.”

“Don’t worry,” Tim said as he leaned forward to hug the child, “I don’t want you dead, either.” It was a strange hug, one that really just resulted in Damian’s face being squished up against Tim’s chest.

Damian pushed Tim off him, stifling a laugh. “Imbecile.”

Tim just grinned.

\----

“Tim, come on,” Kyla begged, “We have to finish this now. I don’t have time to meet up again for another week and it’s due in two! We need to work on it now.”

The project did not, in fact, have to be worked on that very second. Tim knew that. Jordan knew that. Hell, even Kyla knew that, but she was being a drama queen about it and insisting they finish the first part of the project at least two weeks before it was due.

“I have to go cook dinner,” Tim insisted.

“Dude, we can just eat out,” Kyla exasperated, “Oh my god, I can even pay for it if you’re worried about the money.”

“No, it’s just-” Tim tried, only to be cut off by a glare from Kyla. Jordan was being unhelpfully silent during their little argument. “Ugh. Fine,” Tim sighed, “Why don’t you two just come over, then? You can eat dinner with us and we can finish after.”

“Oooh, home cooking. Yes,” Kyla chattered excitedly, a complete 180 in her emotions. Really, Tim did not understand that girl.

“One second,” Tim said, rolling his eyes as he pulled out his phone. Damian picked up after only a few rings.

 _“Drake,”_ the child greeted.

“Hey, brat, I’m gonna be late tonight. Think you can get dinner started for me?”

The kid sighed loudly, as if Tim were asking him to move an entire mountain by himself with just a shovel. _“Can’t we just order in?”_

“No,” Tim said as he motioned for his classmates to follow him down to the subway station a couple blocks over, “We’ve done that enough this week, besides those potatoes need to get used up. Do you know how to make baked potatoes?”

 _“Yes, Drake,”_ Damian said.

“Use all the potatoes. 400º for an hour. Wrap them in foil and-“

 _“I know,”_ Damian said impatiently, _“I’ve been watching you and Pennyworth prepare these for nearly two years. I know how to put a potato in the oven. Stop fussing.”_

Tim ignored the tone and continued, “and don’t forget to poke holes in them. Otherwise they’ll explode.”

 _“That is a myth,”_ Damian shot back, _“poking holes in potatoes is completely unnecessary.”_

“Poke holes in them you little brat.”

 _“Anything else you wish to demand of me?”_ Damian drawled.

“No. I’ll be home in about half an hour and I’m bringing two of my classmates so be ready for company.”

_“I hate you.”_

“And Damian?” Tim asked with a devious grin.

“ _What,_ ” he demanded.

“Be careful with the oven. It’s kind of dangerous for a tiny little 11-year-old to use.”

 _“I really hate you,”_ Damian snapped as he ended the call. Tim couldn’t help but laugh as he pocketed his cell phone.

“Aww, is this the sick kid?” Kyla gushed, “We’re gonna get to meet the sick kid?”

“I don’t think I want to eat food prepared by a sick child,” Jordan quipped.

“He’s not sick anymore,” Tim sighed as he descended the stairs into the subway station, “it was just a cold and he’s been over it a week, but yes. You’ll get to meet him. But umm,” Tim hesitated.

“What?” Kyla asked.

Tim let out a nervous laugh as they approached the platform to wait for the train. “If he threatens to kill you, just ignore him. He’s all bark.”

“Your kid threatens to kill people?” Jordan asked with a raised eyebrow.

The train approached, causing the trio to approach the edge of the platform. “You really think the 15-year-old has an 11-year-old kid, Jordan? They’re brothers.” Kyla said, rolling her eyes.

Already regretting the decision to invite his classmates over to his apartment, Tim huffed an annoyed breath and got on the train. “I’m not 15,” he mumbled.

Kyla smirked and said, “Sure you aren’t.”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“Sorry, Timmy, but you don’t look 19,” she said.

“Sorry man, but yeah she’s right,” Jordan added, “You really don’t.”

“You guys suck,” Tim stated, “would you like to see my driver’s license? I’m not 15.”

And he wasn’t. He was 17, thank you very much.

Kyla laughed and Jordan just grinned, allowing the rest of the train ride to be had in silence.

When they arrived at Tim’s apartment, he unlocked the door and called in for Damian, “Hey kid, I’m home. Brought my classmates.”

“Drake,” Damian greeted flatly from the couch.

“Yeah, hi. That’s Damian, Damian this is Kyla and Jordan,” Tim said, gesturing at each person as he said their name.

“Hi Dami,” Kyla said with a bright smile, while Jordan simply waved.

“Call me that again, harlot, and I’ll-”

“Damian,” Tim chastised, “call _her_ that again and you’ll spend the rest of the night in your room.”

The brat scowled and threw himself back on the couch dramatically, turning up the volume on the TV. For once, he wasn’t watching a batman related show, but rather a documentary about aliens. Whatever. The kid was weird.

“Why does he call you 'Drake?'” Kyla asked curiously.

Tim shook his head. He was surprised he hadn’t had this conversation before. “It’s my middle name and he’s a shit about it.”

Jordan furrowed his brows and asked, “Wait so your name is Timothy Drake Wagner?”

“Yes?” Tim said, returning the confused expression.

“And he’s your brother, Damian,” the older man pointed out.

“Yes,” Tim said slowly, shooting Damian a puzzled expression. What was Jordan even getting at?

Then Jordan asked a question Tim wasn’t expecting. “Have you guys ever read the Batman comics?”

Now Damian scowled at demanded, “Why?”

“It’s just, the Robin before the current one’s name is Tim Drake,” Jordan explained, “And the current one is named Damian, and Damian always calls Tim, “Drake,” instead of Tim. Well, usually. Sometimes he calls the boys by their first names, but usually it’s last name.”

Tim nodded, trying to figure out how to spin it. How to respond. Should he claim he was named after the comic book character? No. Bad idea. Too big of a coincidence being adopted by a Bruce and having three brothers with the same names as the Robins.

Should he just play it off as a coincidence? Probably, but it was on pretty massive coincidence.

Tell the truth? Ha. No. Terrible idea.

Damian decided for him. “I have been reading the rebirth series of comics, yes. I, too, noted the similarities between Timothy Drake of the comics and my brother. I call him Drake, though, because it’s a stupid name.”

“You’re such a little shit,” Tim complained.

“That’s one crazy coincidence,” Jordan said, clearly a bit suspicious of Tim and Damian.

Just then, there was a loud bang from the oven that caused all four people in the room to jump. Tim quickly went over to the oven and opened the door to see what happened. There, on the rack, were eight potatoes wrapped in foil and covered in the guts of a now exploded potato.

“Huh,” Damian said thoughtfully as he observed the mess.

“Damian,” Tim said patiently, “Did you poke holes in the potatoes like I asked?”

“I did not,” the brat said calmly, “I suppose it is not a myth that potatoes explode.”

“You brat,” Tim said, exasperated. It wasn’t that difficult of a request, but of course the little demon had to try and prove Tim wrong.

Kyla burst out in laughter, causing all the tension and anger building up in Tim to dissolve. It was kind of funny. At least the potato didn’t do any serious damage.

“You’re cleaning this oven tomorrow,” Tim said, pointing the tongs at Damian he’d grabbed to remove as much of the exploded potato as he could, “I’m not dealing with burning up potato mush in my oven and the smoke it’ll create.”

“Fine,” Damian agreed, clearly realizing he'd just avoided an angry lecture.

Tim fixed a salad to go with their potatoes, and not even fifteen minutes later the group of them were sitting around the island while they fixed their baked potatoes with the various toppings Damian had pulled out.

As the conversation topic bounced around from comics to television to movies, Tim found himself simply observing, listening to Damian and Jordan debate the finer details of the latest Justice League animated movie.

And it hit him why he and Damian hadn’t been too unsettled by the one-year anniversary. Yes, they missed home. Yes, they still wanted to go home. But honestly? Tim was content. Right there, in that apartment with his little brother and two friends, Tim was as close to happy as he’d ever been. He had a little brother he loved. Friends he enjoyed spending time with. Adults in his life that cared about him. A good job. School.

Tim was content, and that wasn’t something he regretted.

This universe really wasn't all that bad.


	18. Alfred

A dark hush had fallen over the Manor. In the many years Alfred had been serving the Wayne family, such an atmosphere had been felt within the old walls far too many times.

Alfred did as he did best in trying times: kept busy. Each time of grief the house had experienced had been different. The occupants different. The role of the passed loved one different.

But Alfred had persevered and remained steadfast in his loyalty to the Waynes. Master Bruce, on the other hand, continued to lose pieces of himself. Each death ate away at his soul and dragged him down toward the darkness. The old butler was afraid the man might not have enough of himself left to survive it this time.

Deciding to make a hardy meal for all the guests at the Manor, Alfred got to work fixing a roast with steamed vegetables and various sides. He knew, of course, that most would claim they were ‘not hungry,’ but that did not mean Alfred would allow them to not eat.

Master Damian would refuse to eat the main course.

When Mr. and Mrs. Wayne passed, it had been like losing dear friends to Alfred. Master Bruce, on the other hand, had felt like his entire world collapsed. And perhaps it had. That cruel night in an alley was responsible for the lad never really growing up. He never learned how to deal with his own emotions. His own grief.

Life improved though. Eventually. He took in Dick, and somehow the boy’s bright and bubbly personality had healed something inside the young vigilante. When Master Jason entered the picture, Alfred would have dared to say Master Bruce was _happy._

Then Master Jason died. The second major time of grief in the house.

Those days were hard. Alfred had struggled to get out of bed each morning, the only thing motivating him being the knowledge that if he gave up, Master Bruce would have no one to keep him going.

Alfred removed the now boiled potatoes from the stove and began mashing them with the garlic he'd prepared.

Mashed potatoes was one of Master Tim’s favorite sides. Especially when Alfred used a lot of butter and added garlic.  He would likely eat a couple servings of it.  Heaven knew the boy needed it.

Jason's death had destroyed something within Bruce that still had not healed, years later. Alfred had only started to notice Master Bruce smiling recently. Before, moments of happiness had been rare, if at all existent.

Tim Drake joining the family had really helped.

Master Bruce absolutely adored the teenager. Not that he didn’t adore all his boys, he most certainly did, but Master Tim was a kindred spirit to the man, and the boy’s mere presence did far more for Bruce’s healing than Alfred could have ever hoped to do.

Then young Master Damian appeared out of nowhere and threw everything off balance.

It took a while, but eventually Master Bruce came to love the angry child just as fiercely as he loved his other boys.

Before the family could settle, however, Master Bruce ‘died,’ setting off yet another period of mourning for the family. This time, one that had to be done in silence. In private. The boys had to continue on with life as if their anchor in their world hadn’t just been ripped away.

Titus came scampering into the kitchen, seeming to finally realize Alfred was cooking. Usually the dog was right at Alfred’s side the entire time he cooked, just waiting for the butler to drop something. As if Alfred ever dropped the food on accident.

Instead of hover, though, the dog just laid on the kitchen floor and whined at Alfred. The butler tossed the dog a scrap of meat from the roast as he carved it, but the dog ignored it.

“Master Damian would want you to eat,” the butler chided, nudging the piece of meat with his toe. At the name of his owner, the dog’s ears perked up, just for him to lie back down and whine. Alfred frowned and leaned down to scratch the dog’s head. “Come now,” he soothed, “everything will be all right.”

In the aftermath of Master Bruce’s death, Alfred was immensely proud of Master Dick and his ability to keep everything together, much better than his father. Proud of his emotional maturity that allowed him to hold himself together so he could help hold the family together.

Unfortunately, it did not stop the bickering and falling out between the four boys. Master Tim left, feeling unwanted and ostracized by his family. Master Jason was, well, himself. His relationship with the family had been rocky, at best, ever since his return to Gotham.

The grief that overcame the boys, however, lessened as time moved on. They had still missed their father, of course, but they were able to pull themselves together and continue with life. Master Damian even became something close to happy under Master Dick’s care and guidance.

Then Master Bruce had returned.

And somehow, the family started to knit itself back together. Master Jason came around sometimes. Master Damian, although resistant at first, transitioned well into the care of his father. Master Dick stopped carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and relaxed, finally falling back into his happy self. Master Tim even came back home.

Alfred finished setting the table and placed the food out in the center, ready for the masters of the house to come eat.

Knowing that no one would show if he simply announced over the intercom that dinner was ready, he made his way throughout the Manor to collect the young masters himself. He, of course, knew where each member of the family was.

They weren’t a perfect family. They had their moments. Their weeks, more accurately, with heated arguments and violent spats. Silent treatments. Petty grudges.

Master Tim and Master Damian still did not get along, and it was a constant struggle to get the two to at least act civil toward one another.

Master Jason rarely came around, and when he did he often got into loud arguments with anyone who would allow their buttons to be pressed.

Even Master Dick went through phases where he’d fight with Master Bruce or disagree with one of the other boys.

They weren’t a perfect family, but they were a loving one, and they were Alfred’s.

“Master Dick, Miss Gordon,” Alfred said when he found the two in the upstairs den, not at all paying attention to whatever television program they had droning on in the background, “dinner is served.”

“Alf-” Dick sighed, his voice raspy from what could only be recent crying.

“Attendance is required, Master Dick,” Alfred said crisply as he turned on his heels. He was not in the mood to argue with anyone. Everyone would sit down and eat, no arguments.

Alfred avoided the family bedrooms on his way to the library, where he was sure to find Master Jason and Mr. Harper. He was immensely grateful the boys had not bolted. The more of the family here, the better for everyone. No one should be alone right now.

He found the lads right where he thought they’d be. The mood in the library was somber, a rare atmosphere to surround such boisterous boys as Jason and Roy. Even in the most trying times, those two could lighten up the room and keep everyone smiling. Or at least rolling their eyes in exasperation.

But everyone had their limits, Alfred supposed.

“Dinner is served,” Alfred said once he walked into the library, “I expect both of you to be in attendance. Please come to the dining room.” He gave each boy a pointed look, daring them to argue.

Master Jason just responded with a quiet, “Sure, Alfred,” followed by a sad smile.

Alfred nodded and turned to leave the room. He only had one more person left to retrieve.

The elderly butler avoided looking at the pictures along the wall as he made his way down to the study. He had recently redecorated, populating the walls of the Manor with more recent photographs. Now it was difficult to walk through the halls without being reminded of the family that lived within its walls.

Smiling faces surrounded him. Normally that would cause him to smile, but now it just made his chest ache.

He had hoped that by redecorating, Master Tim and Master Damian would have felt more included in the family. He knew both lads felt a tad insecure about their places.

It never ceased to amaze Alfred how such bright, observant children could be so blind.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said as he entered the man’s study, ready to insist the man attend dinner. Taking in his pseudo-son’s appearance, however, Alfred faltered.

Bruce cut his eyes up at the butler, then back down at the glass of scotch in his hand. Bruce hadn’t been crying, but likely barely just.

“I have prepared dinner,” Alfred said softly, mustering up all his strength to offer a sympathetic smile, “all the others have made their way to the dining room.”

“I’m not hungry,” Bruce said, his voice devoid of all emotions.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said sternly, but gently, “You have not eaten well since the incident. It will do your sons no good if you fall ill because you do not take care of yourself.”

A bout of grief flashed across the man’s face before it screwed back into an indifferent expression. “I can’t, Alf,” Bruce whispered before he downed the last of his scotch, “I can’t-”

Alfred frowned. “Master Bruce, everyone is waiting for you to join them for dinner.”

“Alfred,” Bruce said, a touch of anger showing through now, “I’m not hungry.” The man leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of scotch to refill his glass.

“Bruce,” Alfred snapped, just to be cut off by the man.

“No,” he responded, just as testily, then sighed as he took another swig. “I can’t eat right now. Maybe tomorrow.”

Lacking the energy to argue further, Alfred let out a huff and left the room. He hadn't truly expected to convince the man, anyway.

When he arrived in the dining room, Alfred found the four young adults sitting around the table, each of them staring at the empty place settings.

Alfred put a hand to his forehead and went to collect the extra dishes. “Dear me,” he whispered as he collected up three plates and all the utensils along with them, trying and failing to keep his hands from shaking.

“Master Bruce will not be joining you,” Alfred said shortly once he’d put all the dining ware on the hutch to put away later, “So please begin. Does anyone need anything?”

“No, thank you, Alfie,” Master Dick responded, forcing a smile, “for everything.”

“Of course, Master Dick,” he said before returning to the kitchen, content that the four were each putting food on their plates. Hopefully they’d all eat a least a little.

Back in the kitchen, Alfred looked around for something to do. Instead, he saw the pot of coffee he’d brewed and froze.

Why had he even made that?

Only Master Tim liked to drink coffee with his dinner. Everyone else preferred a cold drink with dinner. Water or iced tea. Lemonade or juice. On cold days or especially rough days, several of them enjoyed hot tea, as well.

Ah yes, the tea, Alfred remembered, as he grabbed the pot and sugar and brought it back into the dining room. He set the teapot in the center with the two bowls of sugar next to it. White sugar and brown, because…

Alfred sat down heavily on the chair nearest him, putting a hand up to his face as he stared at the brown sugar.

There was no one left who liked their tea with brown sugar.

No one to drink the coffee at dinner.

Never again would Alfred break up petty fights or listen to the two youngest Waynes bicker all throughout dinner.

He’d never have to persuade Tim to get some sleep or take a break.

No one would call him ‘Pennyworth’ and offer him compliments and gratitude disguised as insults.

Because his youngest two grandsons, and only two still living at home, were gone.

They were dead.

How would they ever recover from this?

Alfred didn’t even notice the chair next to him scratching across the floor as its occupant scooted closer to him until a hand was placed on his shoulder. A moment later, another pair of arms wrapped around him from the other side.

Alfred could hear both his remaining grandsons’ harsh breathing as they, too, wept for the two youngest.


	19. Eighteen Months

January came and went, and with it, Damian turned 12. They had kept the celebration simple. It had taken some convincing, but Tim managed to get Damian to invite a few of his little friends to join them. Molly’s mother, Laura, accompanied them and three of Damian’s other friends to the New York Aquarium.

It had been adorable. Damian and his little friends, Molly, Cara, Penny, and Franklin, goofing off and joking around. Despite the brat originally sticking close to Molly at school, based on how he always talked about Molly, he had quickly chosen Franklin as his best friend. When Tim finally got to meet the child at Damian’s birthday, Tim was glad to observe that the relationship was mutual.

The fact that Damian had made _so much_ emotional progress in the year and a half they’d been stranded had been weighing heavily on Tim’s mind. Yes, Dick had managed to turn an angry, entitled, pretentious, spoiled, elitist- okay, so those were all synonyms. Tim’s point is Damian was a terrible person- The fact that Dick had taken that boy to one on the road to having morals and manners in just about six months was insanely impressive.

Maybe Damian was just that malleable, still, being so young. Or maybe his rough exterior had been a defense mechanism for living in such a violent world, and this child was the real him. As he spent more time away from the League of Assassins, he let his guard down and started exposing himself more. Once he started believing that Tim actually did care about him, he let himself show even more.

Inside, Tim was still shocked to find such a sweet, caring little boy. So yeah, maybe the ‘sweet’ bit was still a little bristly, or a lot bristly, but when Tim really paid attention to how Damian behaved and what his gestures and language really meant, he could see the underlying kindness in the child.

Dick probably had seen all that within days of meeting the brat.

Tim just wished he had taken the time to understand Damian before. Why did it always take such extreme circumstances in their messed up little family to bring them together?

“Good morning, Timothy,” Damian said one morning after his post-workout shower. The formal greeting, coupled with the fact that they’d already seen each other that morning, caused Tim to raise an eyebrow. The only time the brat was so formal was when he was wanting something.

“Mornin’,” Tim replied, not letting his suspicions show.

“What are you preparing for breakfast?” the kid asked as he took his seat at the counter.

Tim smiled at him as he finished whisking together the ingredients in a bowl. “Pancakes.”

Damian scrunched his nose at the ingredients sitting on the counter. “With bananas and peanut flour?”

“Protein,” he replied simply as he scooped the first three pancakes on the griddle, then added, “and no sugar.”

“Interesting,” the brat said thoughtfully.

Tim wanted to ask what it was Damian wanted, but instead settled on asking, “Anything interesting happening at school today?”

“Not particularly,” Damian sighed, “I have a math test.”

“Bet you’ll ace that,” Tim said, his words becoming clipped as he struggled to contain a cough until he finished the sentence.

“Tim?” Damian asked, his concern not even vaguely masked.

The teen held a finger up and coughed a bit harder to clear whatever it was, then took a sip of his coffee. “Sorry, allergies. Been bothering me all week.”

“Allergies in February?” Damian asked doubtfully.

“It’s a thing.”

“Right,” the kid said, clearly unconvinced.

They stayed in comfortable silence for a few minutes, during which time Tim flipped the pancakes, then removed them to start the next set. He was hoping they’d taste good. Like Damian, he was skeptical of the recipe. It simply called for bananas, flour, and eggs, but the recipe he’d found online had plenty of good reviews. The idea of a protein packed breakfast that didn’t require them eating an ungodly amount of eggs appealed to him, as well. He was getting kind of tired of having eggs every single morning. It was his go-to meat replacement in the morning. He’d finally started doing some serious research on eating vegetarian, to make sure he and Damian were eating balanced meals, instead of just making it up as he went day-to-day, hoping they’d get all the nutrients they needed.

Good thing Damian wasn’t vegan. Tim wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle _that_. Especially since most of his recent experimenting with their diet had involved adding more dairy. Things like greek yogurt and cottage cheese turned out to be great additions to breakfast. His new favorite way to eat oatmeal was with cottage cheese.

When Tim slid the plate of pancakes across the counter to Damian, topped with bananas and a peanut flour and milk sauce the recipe had recommended, he made a point to look away so Damian could try the new food without the pressure of not hurting the chef’s feelings.

“Not bad,” Damian said after taking a few bites.

“Very banana-y,” Tim commented after his own bite of pancakes.

Damian shrugged and continued eating. “I like bananas.”

Tim smiled and let the conversation fall.

Finally, as Tim was rinsing off their dishes to load into the dishwasher, Damian spoke up. “I have my first fencing competition on Saturday,” he said conversationally.

“Oh yeah?” Tim said.

“Yes,” Damian said shortly, obviously schooling his expression and tone to not reveal any of his emotions, “will you be in attendance?”

“Hmm,” Tim said, hiding his grin by turning his back to the brat. “I don’t know. There’s gonna be a Simpsons marathon on TV, and the couch is rather comfortable. That’s pretty steep competition, Dames.”

Either Damian knew Tim well, or he could hear the teasing in his tone, because Damian scowled and said sharply, “Quit with your childishness. A simple yes or no is all that is required, _Drake._ ”

Tim cringed at the ‘Drake.’ Damian had fallen into the habit of only calling him by his birth surname when angry with him. Or annoyed. Obviously, this was important to the brat if he couldn’t tolerate even a tad bit of teasing.

“Yes, Damian, of course I will attend,” Tim said, turning his tone to serious, “You didn’t even have to ask.”

Damian nodded curtly and walked back to his room to finish getting ready for school.

\----

Saturday came without further comment from the brat. Aside from a curt ‘We need to be at the school by 10,’ he didn’t mention the competition a single time. Was the kid nervous or something?

Heh.

Damian was freaking adorable, really.

All Tim could do was grin up in the bleachers when Damian stepped out on the gymnasium floor, decked out in his full fencing gear without the mask. Yep. Adorable.

It was easy to forget sometimes that the little gremlin was a trained assassin.

Tim watched in amusement all the theatrics that went into fencing. Damian and his opponent saluted each other. It was hilarious. And the referee, or president or something, Tim wasn’t paying attention to what they called him, started the match in French.

Fencing was ridiculous.

No wonder Damian loved it.

Well, Tim was pretty sure Damian loved it because it was the closest to sword fighting he was going to get in this world, but still. He probably liked the over-the-top-ness of it, too.

Faster than Tim could blink, the first round was over. He wasn’t even sure what had happened.

“Holy shit,” someone behind Tim whispered, stunned.

Tim needed to pay better attention.

As soon as the command to begin was shouted, Damian lunged forward with grace. His footwork was impressive, for a 12-year-old. Clearly a bit rusty for a Robin. Tim should work on footwork with him.

The brat got to the other child long before said child had even taken two steps and stabbed him. Was stab the right word? Touch? Damian won the point before the other kid even woke up, basically.

“Damn,” the man next to Tim said, “No wonder they let a 6th grader on the team.”

“He shouldn’t be playing with amateur children,” the woman on the other side of the man hissed, “it isn’t fair to the other children. He’s going to wipe the floor with them all. He should be at the professional level.”

“I don’t know,” someone else chimed in, everyone keeping their voices soft and low so not to disturb the match on the ground, “my son is pretty good.”

“Is that your son?” the original man asked, pointing at Damian.

“No. He’ll face this kid, though.”

Tim huffed a quiet laugh. Good to know Damian was doing well. All this looked like to Tim was playing with toy swords.

The competition went on in much the same manner. Every time Damian was up, he got to five points in so many seconds of play. The complaining around Tim got more agitated before everyone seemed to just accept that their children sucked and Damian was a prodigy.

One parent, however, approached Damian’s coach after and demanded Damian be removed from the team.

Tim wasn’t sure what the woman was ranting about, at first, when he had noticed her obviously tearing into the coach. Damian by his side, his brow knit into a careful concealment of anger, annoyance, and amusement.

As he got closer, he could pick up her rants. Apparently, she thought the coach had obviously somehow paid Damian to come over from wherever just to play on the team.

“That’s completely illegal, you know,” she whined, “you can’t just bring foreign exchange students for sports.”

Damian scowled at the accusation and looked about to tear into the woman himself.

Tim coughed, grabbing the attention of all three people. “Hey, bud, you did great,” Tim said, walking forward and placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Despite the tense atmosphere, Damian smiled at the praise and backed down, content to let Tim handle it.

“If you have a complaint about my brother,” he said, turning his tone cold as he addressed the woman, “Take it up with me or the coach. Don’t involve Damian. He’s 12.”

“I am capable of defending myself regardless of my age, Timothy,” Damian said dryly.

“Be that as it may,” Tim continued, “trying to get a child thrown off a team because he’s better than your child is not very sportsmanlike. Did you not read all those signs all over this gym? The ones requesting parents let the kids just have fun? Your entire attitude is not conducive to a friendly atmosphere of competition. Damian was nothing but polite this entire competition, he just happens to be amazing at the sport. Get over it.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wagner,” the coach assured with a smile, “Damian earned his spot fair and square, I’d never kick him off because a rival’s parent demanded it.”

“He wasn’t much of a rival,” Damian added unhelpfully.

Tim grinned as the woman’s face turned red.

“How dare you-“ she started, just to be cut off by the coach. Had the man not done it, Tim was about to. He wasn’t about to let anyone at Damian like that.

“Ma’am, I suggest you walk away before you embarrass yourself further.”

The woman huffed, then stormed off to where her husband and son were waiting. Tim almost felt bad for them, having her as family. How embarrassing.

“Where’d she get the idea you’re an exchange student?” Tim asked curiously. It wasn’t like Damian was the only non-white kid in the room. This was New York City, for crying out loud.

Damian smiled deviously. “I may have responded to her in Arabic.”

Tim rubbed his face in frustration, then just to cover up his laughter. “Why,” he finally wheezed out.

“Had I said it in English, you would have grounded me.”

That set Tim off harder, which sent him into a coughing fit. “Oh my god, Damian. You’re my favorite, you know that?”

“I know,” Damian said, smiling smugly, apparently proud he’d made Tim laugh so hard.

“As amusing as it is,” the coach chimed in, “Don’t do it again, Wagner. You don’t want someone who speaks the language to understand and report you for unsportsmanlike behavior.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tim put a hand on the kid’s back and led him out of the gym. “What do you say to lunch out? Think the winner of the competition deserves a treat.”

“Tt,” Damian said, “I will accept the offer, but this competition was childsplay. I could have beat these children at age two.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

\----

At the end of February, Tim received an acceptance letter from Columbia University’s Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. He was officially a doctoral candidate. Or would be, in the fall. The feeling was incredible.

He had been getting nervous about his application. The website had said acceptance letters go out in late January and February, so the longer he went without a letter either way, the more likely he figured he’d be receiving a rejection notice.

“Damian,” Tim shouted excitedly after walking inside the apartment. He hadn’t been able to wait to get upstairs to read the letter after retrieving it.

“What?” the brat demanded from where he was sprawled on the couch with Carrie, playing the Nintendo Switch Tim had bought him for Christmas.

“I got in,” he cheered, ridding himself of his shoes before he skipped over to the brat.

“To the apartment? Congratulations. I know turning a key can be difficult at times.”

“You little brat,” Tim said, “to Columbia.” He leaned over the back of the couch and offered the letter to the gremlin.

Damian’s face lit up and he took the letter to read. “Of course you got in,” he said, schooling his facial expression to be less excited puppy and more indifferent demon, “they would be fools to deny you entrance.”

“I think you meant that to be insulting, or something, but it totally wasn’t. I knew you’d be proud of me,” Tim teased.

“Tt,” Damian said, half-heartedly as he turned to hide his red cheeks. “Yes, well. Congratulations, Timothy.”

“Thanks, Demonbrat,” Tim said, ruffling his baby brother’s hair.

\----

“What is it you’re focusing on again?” Dr. Peterson, one of Tim’s Physics professors, asked after class one day. He had written a recommendation letter for Tim and was thrilled to hear the news the teen had been accepted.

“The theory of the multiverse,” Tim said casually, “I hope to prove whether it exists.”

“Interesting,” the man mused, “that is quite a theory to tackle. It’s quite contested among the physics community, you know.”

“Oh yes,” Tim said, “I’ve done a ton of research on it already. There’s a professor willing to work with me on it at Columbia, though.”

Dr. Peterson finished gathering his supplies and motioned for Tim to follow him to his office. “I’d love to hear your opinion on it. Do you think it exists?”

“I do,” Tim said knowingly as he fell in step with the man, signaling to Jordan, who was sitting next to him in class, to go on without him, “I hope to prove it.”

“How do you intend on doing that?” the Dr. said as he unlocked his office and motioned for Tim to go through, “Many believe that this is one of the topics not even worth scientific inquiry because it is impossible to prove or disprove using the scientific method. It is often equated to attempting to prove whether God exists.”

Tim sat down on one of the arm chairs across from the desk. He put a leg up over the arm and stared up at the ceiling. “I have several theories. Basically, I hope to pinpoint moments when the universes opened to one another, rips basically, and allowed people or things to travel between the two.”

He knew exactly how to do that, too. He was going to study the exact second he and Damian arrived in this universe and pretty much backtrack from there. Figure out what conditions were present when they were allowed to pass from one universe to the other and recreate those conditions in a lab.

“And you think that is happening?” the professor asked skeptically.

“Yep,” Tim said, popping the last letter. “If there are multiple universes, infinite universes, even, surely in one of them they have the ability to travel throughout the multiverse. If that is the case, then someone has to have visited this one at some point.”

“Wagner,” the man said, pointing his pen at Tim, “I’m not sure I buy into this theory, I’ll wait until I start seeing your results, but I also can’t bring myself to call you crazy. Since meeting you, I haven’t been able to shake this weird feeling that I’m talking to the next Einstein.”

Tim beamed at the praise. Physics wasn’t really his strong point. He could do it well, sure. He was smart and all that, but to be compared to one of the most famous and influential physicists of all time, arguably the creator of the field of quantum mechanics, was flattering.

“Wow,” Tim breathed, unsure of what else to say.

“Go on now,” the professor laughed, “I’m sure you’re a busy guy. Go revolutionize the field or eat a sandwich or something. I’ve got another class in five minutes.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tim said as he hopped up.

Outside, he found Jordan sitting on the floor, reading.

“Oh, hey were you waiting on me?” Tim asked.

Jordan shut the book and smiled. “Yeah, man. I knew he couldn’t keep ya long. Want to grab lunch?”

“Awesome. I’m starving.”

“You know you’re a nerd, right?” Jordan joked as they made their way out the building and to a café down the street.

“What? Because I got into grad school?” Tim asked, laughing. Yes. Tim knew he was a nerd.

“Nah, because you get as excited as a puppy seeing his owner for the first time after sleeping when you talk about your theories.”

“Pfft,” Tim huffed, “you’re just jealous your major is secondary ed and not physics.”

“Obviously.”

\----

The day didn’t feel any different from all the others. Tim and Damian got up and did their normal morning routine. They went for a run, worked out some, and sparred. After showers, they prepared breakfast together… okay well Tim made breakfast while Damian sat and watched. Then they walked to Damian’s school together.

That’s when Tim realized it wasn’t just an average Tuesday.

Damian was in the middle of telling Tim about how one of his classmates hopped up on his lunch table and belted out ‘Don’t Stop Believin’,’ for no apparent reason, only to get peas thrown at him. Ah, the adventures of middle school, Tim mused as he half listened. That’s when it happened.

Tim froze, staring ahead of him in shock. It took Damian three steps to notice and turn around.

“Tim?” he questioned with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Bruce,” Tim breathed so quietly, he didn’t actually make noise. Just moved his mouth in an attempt to speak. Because thirty yards ahead of them, across the next street, was standing Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. Both casually standing at the corner, waiting to cross, as if it were just any other Tuesday in Gotham.

Damian’s eyes widened as he followed Tim’s gaze and turned around. “Father, Grayson,” he exclaimed, taking off in a sprint to the street corner.

That snapped Tim out of it and he called, “Cars, Damian,” as horrible visions of the brat being pancaked on the road shot through his head. He jogged to catch up to the boy and wait to cross the street.

Dick smiled brightly at them and Bruce nodded, acknowledging he’d seen them.

Once the lights changed and the walk sign illuminated, Tim and Damian went to the other side of the street to meet the two men. Damian leapt up and gave Dick a massive hug, much to everyone’s surprise.

“I’ve missed you,” Damian said, causing both men to smile.

Dick returned the hug and said, “We’ve missed you too, Little D.”

Bruce put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and smiled down at him. “It’s good to see you.”

Tim grinned and gave Bruce a hug. “You, too.”

After another minute of greetings and hugs, the four of them walked away from the street corner to get away from the crowd of people waiting to cross. Somehow, Damian ended up riding piggyback on Dick while Bruce walked beside them, with Tim following behind.

Suddenly, Bruce and Dick turned and faced Tim, looming over him.

“Why haven’t you figured out how to get home yet?” Dick asked, anger flickering in his eyes.

Tim took a step back and looked back at them, completely confused. “What?”

“Almost two years, Tim,” Bruce said.

Dick chimed in with, “All that time and you just lazed around, playing videos games and watching TV. Is that it?”

“What? No, I-”

“He’s been playing hacker,” Damian scoffed, “and house.”

With Damian up high with Dick and Bruce, Tim’s already short stature felt even smaller. He felt tiny. He felt like a 3-year-old being chewed out for breaking a china cup.

“You thought writing me letters would be enough to make up for the years you’ve stolen of Damian’s life?” Bruce boomed.

Tim swallowed. “No, I didn’t mean-”

Bruce took a step forward and growled, “He’s my only son and you kept him away from me for nearly two years.”

“Bruce, I didn’t know how to-”

“Why didn’t you study multiversal travel before? You should have planned for this scenario. Have I taught you nothing?”

Tim shook his head as tears welled in his eyes. “I did have plans but this universe didn’t have any Justice League.”

“You should have had contingencies for universes without superheroes,” Dick said accusingly.

“I didn’t know such universes existed,” Tim pleaded. His heart was pounding and he wanted nothing more than to retreat. The two people he loved most from his world, the man he considered his dad and the one he considered his big brother, were angry with him. He couldn’t deal with this.

“Father,” Damian said haughtily, “I am glad you have returned. I hope you see now how useless Drake is. I do not know why you’ve kept him around so long.”

“You’re right, Damian,” Bruce said, turning away from Tim, “I don’t know why, either, if he can’t figure something as simple as multiversal travel out.”

“Let’s just leave him here,” Dick said as they turned around to walk off.

Tim stood frozen. “What?” He couldn’t breathe.

His heart was pounding and he’d lost the ability to breathe.

Dammit, lungs, expand.

Tim shot straight up in bed, drenched in so much sweat it was as if he’d just finished a tough work out.

“Fuck,” he panted.

While struggling to catch his breath, he whispered to himself, “It was just a dream,” until he managed to get his heartrate under control.

Carrie hopped up on his bed and curled into his lap. Strange. She usually slept with Damian.

Tim stroked her fur as the tears finally came out. It was just a dream, he kept reminding himself, Bruce and Dick would never react that way. They weren’t mad at Tim. It wasn’t his fault.

It took him nearly an hour to completely calm down, mostly because he kept coughing, which reminded him of not being able to breathe, which just set him back into panic. By that point it was 3:30, so he knew he wasn’t getting back to sleep. Instead, he got up and made himself some coffee. He might as well spend a few hours working on his theory.

Maybe if he figured out how to hack into the right computer systems and equipment, he could start running tests before he started grad school in August.

\----

The next several weeks were absolute hell.

Tim’s allergies were not letting up, even after he began taking antihistamines. It felt like the pollen was taking residence in his lungs and existed just to make his life miserable. Maybe it was a mold allergy. Maybe their apartment had mold?

On top of all that, he basically stopped sleeping. He couldn’t stay asleep for more than an hour or so at a time, usually being woken by either nightmares or his allergies.

That was fine, though. Coffee was his best friend and Tim could use the extra time to study and work through his theories. He hadn’t found a way to run tests without lab access, yet, but he was working on it.

The weeks blurred together, and Tim really wasn’t sure how much time had even passed. That was only made worse by collapsing one evening in the middle of the kitchen.

 

When Tim opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was.

For some reason, that didn’t send him into a panic.

There was something on his face, though, which wasn’t right. He vaguely heard the sound of someone saying his name, and suddenly the world came into focus.

That’s when the panic hit.

There was a stranger in his face and his body was strapped down to a bed.

“Hey there, calm down,” the stranger said, “Do you know where you are?”

Tim blinked, then shook his head. He was in a small room, and there were at least two people in there with him. He took a longer look at the men, then at their uniforms, and recognized them as EMTs. Oh. He must have been in an ambulance.

“You’re in an ambulance, we’re taking you to the hospital. Your brother said you collapsed and are having a hard time breathing.”

He collapsed? Tim tried to take a deep breath, to prove the EMT and Damian wrong, but that just resulted in a coughing fit. The EMT helped him sit up as Tim removed the breathing mask so he could cough easier. As the coughing continued, Tim started seeing black specks in his vision as dizziness took over.

The EMT put the mask back on his face and said, “Careful, there, you really need this oxygen. Your levels are too low.”

Tim blinked, then noticed Damian sitting off to the side, pale and not making eye contact with his older brother. “Dame-” Tim croaked, then stopped to prevent another fit of coughing.

Damian snapped his eyes over then looked away again. “Focus on breathing, Drake,” the kid said coldly.

Shit. He’d annoyed Damian somehow.

“What’s wrong?” Tim wheezed out. The simple two-worded sentence set him off again, and this time his vision fell completely black.

 

When he came to again, he was being moved. There was a lot of flurried activity around him as EMTs rushed him somewhere, the colors of the world blending together, making Tim dizzier. Soon there were more strangers around him, more wires and cords being attached, a new mask on his face.

As Tim came back into awareness, he tried to say ‘Damian.’ Instead, all that came out was “day,” and the stranger in his face must have misunderstood.

“It’s Tuesday, son,” the man replied while he finished hooking some wires up to something on his finger.

Tim shook his head, then stopped as it sent another wave of dizziness. “Dam’n,” he tried again.

“His brother,” the EMT said, “Damian.”

A minute passed, and Tim’s mind began to clear as the oxygen being pushed into his lungs helped bring him to reality.

“Drake,” Damian said coldly as he approached the bedside.

Tim relaxed, letting go of the tension he wasn’t aware he had. Damian was okay. Tim closed his eyes. “Dam’n.”

“Fix him,” the kid demanded. The sharp, threatening tone from Damian made Tim tense again.

“Dame,” he mumbled, finding the brat’s hand gripping the side of his bed to pat, “M’okay.”

“You’re an idiot is what you are,” Damian shot back.

Tim smiled, content to go back to sleep before something scratched at the back of his mind. What, though, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was he had to tell Damian something. “Paul,” he said suddenly, shooting up to face Damian.

The kid was still standing next to his bed but wasn’t looking nearly as mean and threatening as he had sounded. Actually, his pale skin and red eyes suggested he was terrified, and maybe had been crying?

“What?” Damian asked as the doctor placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Lay back down, son,” the doctor said. He kept talking, but Tim ignored him, not really hearing.

“Call ‘em,” he said, pulling the mask off so he could talk easier.

Damian scowled and swatted Tim’s hands away. “Stop touching that. You calling in sick for work is _not important._ ”

“No,” Tim said desperately, “For you.”

Tim’s vision started to black out and he could feel unconsciousness pulling at him again. “Call him for you,” he repeated, hoping the kid would understand.

 

The next time Tim woke, his entire body was stiff. There was an IV in his arm and a ventilator breathing for him. He hated it. He wanted it out. _Now._

When he opened his eyes, for whatever reason he was expecting to see the cave and a very annoyed Alfred tending to him. Not a hospital room. The sudden memory of where he was caused a pang of homesickness. Damn.

He really, really wanted Bruce. Even if it meant getting chewed out for ending up in the hospital. He just wanted his dad there.

In the corner of the room was Damian, curled up in the armchair with a book draped over the arm of the chair, forgotten as the child had drifted off to sleep. If there weren’t a giant tube in his mouth, Tim would have smiled at the sight.

He closed his eyes again, content to sleep more.

 

Consciousness came and went for what felt like a millennium. Each time he woke he went through various stages of panic, depending on how much of his memory was readily available.

More often than not there was someone in the room with him. Usually Damian, but sometimes a doctor or nurse. Sometimes a combination of the three. One time he was pretty sure he saw Paul.

Why was Paul there?

 

Finally, Tim woke up without a ventilator hooked up.

It was liberating. He took a deep breath of the fresh oxygen being supplied through the cannula in his nose and smiled. His lungs obeyed and expanded fully, then expelled the breath without even a hint of a cough.

Tim opened his eyes to survey the room. In the corner was Damian, playing a game on his phone he appeared to be engrossed in. Whatever game it was, it required Damian moving his phone back and forth as if it were a Wii controller.

“Damian,” Tim said weakly, holding his hand out for the brat while he closed his eyes in a slow blink. He was glad to see his little brother.

The brat’s head shot up as he locked eyes with Tim. “You’re awake,” he finally said after a moment of shocked silence.

“Think so,” Tim mumbled as he found the control to sit his bed up.

“Imbecile,” Damian snapped.

Tim blinked at the child, who was now standing right at his bedside, glaring daggers at him. “Mm what?”

“You are an idiot,” he barked, then before Tim could respond, elaborated with, “The doctor said you were _lucky_ you stopped getting enough oxygen. Because if you hadn’t collapsed, making me call 911, the bacteria in your blood would have done more damage untreated and you would have died.”

“Jus’ allergies,” Tim protested weakly.

“It was pneumonia, you moron,” Damian cried, the anger in his voice causing it to break, “You had that cough for over a month, and it was fucking pneumonia.”

“Damian, I-”

“You weren’t even taking your antibiotics.”

“I ran out,” Tim offered sheepishly. He wasn’t awake enough to get chewed out by a 12-year-old.

The brat scowled. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Language.”

That set Damian off more. “No. You don’t get to tell me to watch my fucking language after you tried to kill yourself with your stupidity.”

“I was just trying to help you-”

“How does you dying help me?” Damian screamed.

“Dami-”

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” the kid hissed.

Tim groaned in frustration. If Damian would just let him finish one damn sentence he could explain that he just lost track of time and stuff burying himself in his work. He didn’t realize it’d been so long since his prescription ran out. He kept meaning to get it refilled, but he was so busy.

Damian took a deep breath, then seemed to let go of all his anger. “Why would you abandon me like that?” he whispered.

No.

Fuck, no. Tim rubbed at his eyes, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry, Dami. I wasn’t trying-” his breath caught and he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“If you die, I have no one,” Damian said sternly, seemingly unbothered by Tim’s break, “You need to understand that.”

“Dames,” Tim said, reaching out for Damian. The brat allowed himself to be pulled next to Tim for a hug, careful of the IV in Tim’s arm.

It took a minute, but Tim was able to get himself back under control. When he did, he said into the boy’s hair, “I’m sorry. I love you, okay? I’ll take better care of myself.”

“You better,” Damian croaked. Huh. He must have been crying, too. “You’ll cut back on your hours, too. Sleep more. Never miss medication again. I don’t care if it takes an extra five years to get home. You aren’t helping me by killing yourself trying to do it faster.”

Tim nodded. “Okay. I Promise.”

Damian sniffed and rested back against Tim, then whispered almost too quietly for Tim to hear, “I love you, too.”

Tim fell asleep again, holding onto his little brother.

 

The next time he woke, Damian wasn’t in the room anymore, but someone else was.

“Hey, Paul,” Tim said in greeting.

“Good to see you awake, Tim,” the man said, smiling.

Tim laughed, “Yeah, can’t wait until I’m back to 100%.”

“You really scared Damian,” Paul admonished.

Really? Did everyone have to chew him out? Couldn’t he at least finish recovering before all the yelling started?

“He’s barely slept all week,” Paul continued, “The only times I’ve caught him sleeping was when I brought him here to sit with you.”

Brought him here? Wha- Oh right. Tim wanted Damian to call Paul so the man could watch him. Maybe he wasn’t all that great of a guardian if he didn’t actually think ‘where has my kid been all week?’ after waking up. But it’s fine. He was with Paul. Molly is his friend, that probably helped a lot.

“Thanks for watching him. Sorry I didn’t give you a heads up or anything.”

“Tim, like I’ve told you a dozen times, you can call me when you need help,” Paul sighed, “We need to talk about something, though.”

“What’s that?” Tim asked, dreading the conversation.

“It’s clear you have too much on your plate.”

“Paul,” Tim said quickly, “it was a whole combination of things that had nothing to do with work. I swear.”

“You are paid for 40 hours a week, Tim,” Paul said, uncaring of Tim’s hasty explanation, “I’ve let you get away with putting in extra hours too long. You’ve got too much on your plate. I can’t control how much time you invest in school, but I can control this. So, from now on, I want only 40 hours a week from you.”

Tim looked away, feeling like a grounded child. “Fine.”

“And I’m putting in your employee emergency information that you don’t have a spleen. You should have added that yourself when I had you fill out the paperwork when you first started.”

“Okay,” Tim agreed, still refusing to look at Paul.

“Tim,” Paul said, setting a hand on the teen’s shoulder. When Tim looked up, he continued, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Tim said numbly.

\----

A week later, Tim found himself lying on the couch with his legs dangling off the side where he had them draped over the arm rest, playing a game on his laptop while his friends chattered away.

It had become almost a routine, before Tim got sick. Once a week or so, Kyla and Jordan would come over and they’d all hang out until dinner, when Tim would cook for everyone. It was nice.

“Dammit,” Tim swore at the computer, “why are all my people dying?”

“Obviously you’re a terrible mayor,” Kyla said.

Tim let out a frustrated sound and paused the game he was playing. “Why on earth is it the mayor’s fault that people get sick? This game makes no sense!”

“Dude,” Jordan said, leaning over to look at Tim’s city, “your water pump is pulling in polluted water.”

“Ugh.” Tim rubbed his face and considered quitting the game. “I wanted to play this game because the infrastructure building looked fun. I don’t care about freaking water.” With the final sentence, he threw his arms up in exasperation.

“Hey,” Kyla said, changing the subject, “are you wearing a bracelet? I’ve never noticed it.”

“What?” Tim turned his head so he could look back at Kyla. When he realized she was, indeed, talking to him, he averted his attention to the bracelet he forgot he was wearing. “Oh, yeah. My brother bought it for me.”

“Oh my God,” she gushed, “that is so stinking cute. Let me see.” The girl grabbed Tim’s wrist and inspected the bracelet.

“Wait, this is a medical bracelet. You don’t have a spleen?” she asked, horrified.

Tim pulled his wrist back and readjusted the charm from where the girl had twisted it uncomfortably. “Is that what it says? Guess not.”

“Dude,” Jordan said flatly, “seriously?”

“What?” Tim asked. Why was it even an issue? Damian had bought the bracelet for Tim so ‘the next time’ he collapsed, stupid little brat, the paramedics would know how to handle him regardless of whether someone was around that knew him.

Jordan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

“What?” Tim asked a little more forcefully.

“Yeah, what, Jordan?” Kyla added.

“Nothing,” he stressed, “Sweet of Damian to buy it.”

“Annoying of Damian to buy it,” Tim corrected.

“Where is the little demon, anyway?” Jordan asked, “He’s usually here hogging the television.”

Tim grinned at Jordan’s use of his nickname for the brat. “Rehearsals.”

“For what?” Kyla asked.

“Oliver Twist. He’s in the ensemble at his little theater company.”

Kyla gasped and squealed, “Oh my god, I love that play. Can I come to the performance? Please?”

“I guess,” Tim said, laughing, “If I build water towers instead of a pump, will that fix it, Jordan?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Good,” Tim said, nodding, “Everyone stop whining, now.”

 

Damian got home just before 7. It was a new thing, Tim letting him ride the subway alone. He was 12 now, so he kept repeating, and therefore definitely an adult. If nothing else, Tim took solace in the fact that Damian was a trained assassin and could defend himself, if necessary. And without them having to hide secret identities, he could actually defend himself to the best of his ability.

Plus, Tim still had a tracking app on his phone.

“Hey, kid,” Tim greeted as the brat came through the front door. He was in the kitchen, pulling out everything he needed to make dinner and Kyla and Jordan were sitting at the island watching.

“Tim,” Damian said nodding at Tim, then at Kyla and Jordan, “interlopers.”

“Aw, I love seeing you, too, Dami,” Kyla giggled.

Damian sighed and joined Tim in the kitchen. “Do you require assistance?”

“Sure,” Tim said slowly. Damian rarely ever offered to help. Actually, Tim usually had to tell him to help. He kept Tim company while he was cooking, and that was about it. “Can you chop up the peppers?”

“Of course,” Damian affirmed, stalking over to the fridge to retrieve the vegetables.

Tim looked up to see Kyla smiling warmly at them and Jordan smirking. Yes, okay. They were brothers and doing something very domestic together. Everyone could just pretend it wasn’t happening and move on with life. That’d be okay with Tim.

While they were eating, Tim took stock of his life. He didn’t have Bruce or Dick. His dad or older brother. They weren’t mad at him, either. Tim knew they wouldn’t be mad at him. Probably.

No. This wasn’t his fault.

He didn’t have his dad or brother, but he did have Damian. And Kyla and Jordan. And Paul. He had a decent life. In just a few months he’d be able to start really getting into the theorizing and experimenting phase of his plan.

Hopefully, by this time next year, he and Damian would be heading home.

If not, though, his life was pretty okay. Good, almost.

And looking over at Damian, who was smiling and chatting with Kyla, he thought the kid probably felt the same way.


	20. Two Years

Tim’s college graduation was kind of surreal to him. He’d been a high school dropout.

And yeah, sure, he was the CEO of a multibillion dollar corporation, so clearly his lack of education didn’t affect his ability to succeed. It wasn’t that he lacked intelligence, it was just he lacked the time to finish before.

Now he held a Bachelor’s Degree. In physics. Not biology or computer science or language, or any of the subjects he had already been an expert in, but physics.

A part of him couldn’t wait to tell Bruce.

The other part of him was just excited to see his brother and friends once he was done with the ceremony. They had all sat together somewhere in the audience, since only Tim was graduating out of the three of them.

Tim found them outside, standing near a tree waiting on him. As he approached, his already wide smile grew larger.

“There he is,” Kyla said, “the 15-year-old who got his degree before me.”

“I’m not-” Tim started, just to be interrupted by Jordan.

“Congrats man. It’s gonna suck not having you around campus next year.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like we were likely to have many more classes together anyway,” Tim said, laughing. Honestly, the fact he and Jordan had even had one more class together that first semester was impressive. Neither Kyla nor Jordan were physics majors. It was pretty much why they’d switched to hanging out once a week at Tim’s. “Besides, we aren’t moving anywhere.”

“Timothy,” Damian spoke up as he moved closer to the teen, “Congratulations.” After hesitating for a moment, he added, “Father would be proud.”

That caused Tim to tear up, just slightly, as he smiled down at his little brother. “Thanks, Dames,” he said as he wrapped the kid up in a hug, “You're my favorite, you know.”

The preteen returned the hug and nodded.

“Okay,” Tim said in attempt to change the sudden sullen mood in the atmosphere they had created with his and Damian’s exchange, “Let’s go get lunch. I’m starving.”

“Same,” Kyla chimed in, “but let’s go somewhere closer to Midtown. I’m sure all the places around here are absolutely packed.”

"But first," Jordan said, "Pictures. Come on, Mr. Photographer, you can't forget this part."  

Tim laughed, but obliged as Jordan took pictures of just Tim, then Tim with each of them, and then Tim with all of them.  If the picture of him and Damian became his new favorite, no one had to know.  

\----

Damian had quickly become a legend among the middle school fencing teams in the city. Everyone in the small community knew that his school had a prodigy on the team, and other schools dreaded facing Damian’s.

Combined with the fact that his teammates weren’t completely inept, because they won most their matches, Damian’s school went the year undefeated. But because there was no state league for middle school fencing, that was as far as the school could go. Once Damian was in high school, the coach assured him, he would be able to compete with teams from across the state. For now, he was stuck with just within the city.

Well, that’s what the coach thought.

After Damian’s final match of the year, Damian and Tim were approached just before they left the gym.

“Mr. Wagner?” a tall man asked, smiling widely as he extended a hand to Tim to shake. He looked at Tim briefly, then turned his gaze to Damian, looking at the boy like he was looking at his own son, with so much pride in his eyes it confused Tim.

“Um, yeah. That’s me,” Tim said, accepting the offered hand.

“I’m Patrick Mercier with the Manhattan School of Fencing,” the man said, returning his attention to Tim.

“Tim Wagner. This is my brother, Damian.”

Mr. Mercier, who appeared to be in his 60s, smiled and knelt down to Damian’s level, offering his hand to the boy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Damian.”

Damian scowled at the patronization but accepted the hand to shake.

The man seemed to take the hint and stood back up to his normal height before saying, “I have heard quite a deal about you, young man, from my students and their parents. Where did you learn to fence so well?”

As if asking for approval to explain, Damian looked up at Tim. When Tim nodded, he turned to Mr. Mercier and said, “My grandfather was very into swordsmanship. I learned how to sword fight at a young age. It was a very enjoyable hobby, but I have not had the opportunity in two years to practice it. I’ve only recently taken up fencing in its stead.”

“That would explain your poor form,” the man said, nodding. “You are very talented and have all the makings of an Olympian, you just need to learn the proper form for fencing. It is not the same as sword fighting, as I am sure you’ve discovered.”

Damian lifted an eyebrow, obviously intrigued by the man’s blunt assessment, “Yes, but it is difficult to improve when those around me are as inept as my peers are.”

“Well then, I would like to offer you a place as one of my students. We can put you in with the high school boys, I believe your skill level is still higher than theirs, but they will put up more of a challenge than these children, especially since they have all been fencing most their lives. Then, I can tutor you privately with my other few students I am training to go to the Olympics. What do you say?”

The preteen looked up at Tim with a pleading look in his eyes and a neutral expression on his face. Tim had to bite back a laugh.

“How much is that going to cost?” Tim asked the man. He had saved up throughout the year to afford whatever Damian wanted to do during the summer, but he only had 6 grand set aside for the boy. The rest of his savings account was for grad school. If this fencing thing cost too much, the brat was going to have to make some hard decisions about what hobby he wanted to pursue.

God. Two years ago, he would have never thought Damian would get to the point of having to pick between his extracurriculars, what with him sulking around the apartment by himself every day.

“We can work that out,” Mr. Mercier said kindly, “I don’t want his talents going to waste over money.”

“Alright, if this is what you want to do,” Tim said to Damian, who lit up at the green light.

“Thank you for the opportunity, sir,” Damian said, extending his hand to shake again.

“Just call me Pat,” the man said, laughing, as he accepted Damian’s formal handshake, “I look forward to seeing your skills grow.”

\----

In mid-June, Tim was called to Damian’s school to discuss ‘something’ with the school’s principal.

Damian assured him all the way to the meeting that he’d been on his best behavior all school year and he had no idea what the meeting was about. It was like the kid was nervous he was in trouble with school and would, therefore, be in trouble with Tim.

Honestly, Tim didn’t care. Damian had been doing spectacularly, way better than he could have ever imagined the brat behaving, so whatever the Principal had to say Tim was going to defend Damian. Viciously, if necessary. He wasn’t CEO of WE for no reason.

The Principal, Ms. Newman, asked Damian sit in the hall while she had a private discussion with Tim.

Well then.

“I’m a little surprised by this meeting,” Tim said as he took a seat, “I have received no complaints about his behavior all year. None of his teachers had anything negative to say during the parent-teacher conferences, either.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Wagner, nothing like that. I wanted to discuss his education, actually.”

Tim raised an eyebrow and relaxed a bit in the chair. So, it wasn’t his behavior. Huh.

“All his teachers have commented that he’s extremely intelligent and always seems bored in class. Did you see his test scores? They should have been mailed to you earlier this year.”

“I did,” Tim said with a shrug. He had seen them, but he had no faith in standardized tests. He’d never seen anything less than “99%” on a report from one, meaning that the test taker had performed better than 99% of children taking the same test. That’s what all his had said, that’s what all Dick’s had said. Alfred said Jason and Bruce were the same way. So, when Damian’s said the same thing, he didn’t think much of it.

“He’s in the top 1%, Mr. Wagner.”

Tim shrugged again and gave her a look that said ‘so?’ “Don’t all results say that?”

“No, Mr. Wagner,” the woman replied disbelievingly, “Most kids score around the 50th percentile.”

“Good to know. I already knew he was smart, though.”

Ms. Newman sighed and went on, “After those results, we had him take placement tests in all his subjects.” She paused to make sure Tim was paying attention, “And he scored at the 12th grade level in everything.”

“Okay,” Tim acknowledged. No surprise there.

“That’s as high as the tests will score, Mr. Wagner. Your so- brother’s education level is beyond high school.”

Tim nodded, still unbothered by what he was being told. This didn’t seem like the right response, though, because the woman got frustrated with Tim.

“You don’t seem to care,” she accused, her eyes boring into Tim with so much judgement, Tim wanted to ask if she were a crappy social worker, too.

“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know,” Tim shot back.

The woman sighed and rubbed at her face. “I called you here to discuss skipping him at least past the 7th grade. We really have nothing to offer him here, his time is being wasted.”

Tim rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in favor of skipping him past any grades, but now that the kid had friends and was involved in things outside school, he was more willing than the year before to allow it. “Isn’t this a conversation Damian should be involved in? It is his education we’re discussing.”

After another sigh, she acquiesced and called Damian to join them.

“Mr. Wagner,” she began, speaking directly to Damian, “your brother and I were just discussing the possibility of you skipping a grade.”

“You want me to start the 8th grade next year?” Damian asked.

“It’s clear you are too far advanced for your current grade,” the Principal responded.

“With all due respect,” the brat said, “I am too far advanced for the 8th grade, as well.”

Tim resisted a snort and waited for the Principal to respond.

“I can look into having you start high school, then. It would be near impossible to get you into one of the gifted high schools this year, but I can see if there are strings I can pull. Honestly, with your intelligence, you’ll have your pick of schools. You just need to take the high school placement test.”

Damian gave Tim a pensive look Tim knew all too well. Damian did not want to do that. Not at all.

“Only if you want,” Tim asserted, making sure the brat knew it was entirely his choice.

The boys stared at each other for another minute, Damian seeming to search in Tim’s face for true approval to make his own choice. “Before we moved here,” Damian said, turning his head to face the Principal, “I was homeschooled and my tutor was having me do high school work. Honestly, that work was just as easy and unchallenging as the work has been since I started at public school. That was when I was meant to be in 4th grade. I do not see it being any different, now.”

“Then we can move you straight on to college. That is an option.”

Damian sighed and look back at Tim one more time. “I would rather continue to the 7th grade next year.”

Ms. Newman nearly scowled but seemed to catch herself in time. “Why?”

Damian challenged, “What is the point in moving me through school faster?”

“To challenge you, to keep you from getting bored,” she explained.

“I’m not bored here. I have friends and am involved in three clubs. Next year I might join the Spanish club, too. I heard some of those students speaking Spanish and their syntax is just terrible. They could use the help.”

Tim laughed at the brat’s haughty tone. “You’re going to take over, you mean, and teach them.”

“Perhaps,” the kid said with a sly grin.

"That's what the teacher is for, Dames," Tim reminded.

“You speak Spanish?” Ms. Newman asked in disbelief.

“Of course.”

“Then if you’re really going to continue on to the 7th grade, you cannot take Spanish. You’ll take German.”

Tim snorted in response, causing the Principal to look at them disbelievingly, again. Really, she needed to get over that and start believing.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, trailing off.

“There is no foreign language taught at this school that I do not already know.”

“Okay, fine. You’ll have to prove that and test out of each language, but then that will free up a slot for you to take an extra elective. Take something productive like tech lab or shop.”

“Yes ma’am,” Damian said, looking back at Tim.

Tim took it as a hint to leave. “Okay, then that’s settled. It was nice speaking to you, Ms. Newman.”

“You as well, Mr. Wagner. I will see you both next year.”

As they left the school Tim couldn’t help but think about how much Damian’s attitude toward school had changed in just two years. It went from Tim having to fight the kid tooth and nail to just get him through the doors of his elementary school to Damian choosing to remain in school, even when he’d been given an out.

Damian had just chosen to remain a kid.

He was proud of the little brat.

\----

Summertime was relaxing for Tim. He’d actually never had so little to do. Not since Bruce agreed to take him on as Robin, at least, and he was really enjoying it.

A lot.

The only thing he had on his schedule was work, and since Paul was very serious about the whole ‘only 40 hours, Tim,’ he didn’t have much going on.

Damian, on the other hand, seemed to cram as much into his day as he possibly could. Instead of attending the theater school this year, Damian chose to work with the theater company he’d joined during the school year and take individual lessons. He was taking private voice lessons and was in several dance classes. Tap, ballet, and a couple others Tim was having a hard time remembering. Jazz or something.

On top of all that, he’d started taking private fencing lessons with Patrick Mercier and joined a fencing class at the Manhattan School of Fencing, as Pat had suggested. Pat was an Olympic gold medalist and Damian was absolutely enamored with the man.

And, of course, Damian was plenty old enough to get himself to and from all his various lessons, ‘don’t patronize me, Drake.’ So, Tim found himself sitting around the apartment alone quite a bit. It was strange. Made him feel bad for Damian those first several months they’d lived in the city.

He found things to occupy himself, though. He applied to as many grants as he could find, hoping to pull together enough funding to pay for school so he wouldn’t have to spend a penny on it.

He also rediscovered his love for gaming and started inviting Jordan over to play with him. One Saturday, Jordan brought over his Xbox and “Batman: Arkham Asylum” for the two of them to play through. Tim did not find it nearly as amusing as Jordan seemed to think he would.

The game was… interesting.

Tim caught himself playing with the collar of his t-shirt and pulling it up to his face during the opening sequence. He had to consciously let go to prevent from chewing on it like an anxious child.

Jordan passed the controller to Tim, who took over once the Joker ‘escaped’ within the asylum for him to play through the tutorial.

While he played through the first several sequences, Tim started to wonder why the developers wrote in Oracle but not the rest of the team. Something as big as the entire rogue gallery escaping, coordinated by Joker, would warrant calling in everyone. Even Jason, maybe.

Well. Probably not. Bruce didn’t trust Jason around Joker.

Tim was tempted to mute the game when the Joker’s laughter wouldn’t stop. He found himself chewing on his shirt collar, anyway, the longer he played the game. After Jason’s death, the Joker had been a touchy subject with Bruce, and often the subject of Tim’s own nightmares. Joker was obsessed with Robin, and it was always a bit frightening to face the deranged clown.

After about half an hour, Jordan abruptly pressed pause on Tim’s controller and said, “Sorry, this was a bad idea. We can play something else.”

Tim startled. “What? Why?”

“I have Grand Theft Auto,” he said, instead of explaining, as he ejected the disk to switch out.

Deciding not to argue, Tim went along with it. He really wasn’t interested in finishing the game, anyway. He’d avoided Batman stuff thus far, only watching the silly cartoons with Damian from time to time. He didn’t want to start delving into Batman stuff now. Especially not through video games.

Grand Theft Auto was a lot more fun. They took turns working through the story, this time spending most the time laughing and joking around, instead of silently observing like before. Tim really enjoyed the commentary they were both putting on the game.

After a few hours, they decided to take a break and order pizza.

Jordan, apparently, was a fan of pineapple on pizza, so Tim got to indulge in a rare treat and order his favorite.

“Hey,” Jordan said suddenly half way through lunch. They’d hit a lull in the conversation, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. Jordan seemed tense though, nervous, and it was putting Tim a bit on edge. “I’m sorry about that first game. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

Tim gave him a quizzical look and said, “It’s fine.” Really, it was. Tim wasn’t even sure how Jordan knew he hadn’t liked the game. “It’s just not really my style of game, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jordan laughed awkwardly, “I could tell. You were white.”

“Um,” Tim said, scrunching his eyebrows, “I’m always white, Jordan.”

Jordan laughed again and said “Yeah, I guess.”

“Damian would probably love that game, though,” Tim offered, because Damian probably would adore playing as Batman, “You could always play it with him.”

“You know what,” Jordan said, looking off to the distance in thought, “That would actually be really entertaining.”

Tim smiled and took another bite of his pizza. It would be entertaining.

\----

The two-year anniversary wasn’t quite as uneventful as the one-year was.

Damian spent the days leading up to it lying around, discreetly watching videos Tim had given him of the family. The brat probably thought Tim didn’t know that’s what he was watching on his phone, but he did.

Tim missed them, too.

They were silly videos, usually of a prank Tim pulled, or of something stupid or embarrassing someone was doing, but he was glad he had them. And maybe he, too, sometimes watched those random videos when he just wanted to hear the voice of Bruce or Dick or someone, just to remind himself what they sounded like.

After dinner that night, Damian disappeared out of the apartment. It wasn’t an unusual thing for him to take a walk through the park when he needed to clear his mind, but Tim saw on the tracker app he hadn’t even left the building.

With a sigh, he left the apartment to find the little brat and see what was going on.

Tim found him sitting on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling over the edge. He made a point to make noise as he checked the door handle to see if it locked automatically before shutting it, so he wouldn’t startle Damian and potentially risk having the kid fall off the roof.

“Wow,” he said as he approached the boy from behind, “The city is gorgeous from up here.”

Damian nodded but didn’t respond otherwise.

“I’ve actually never been up here,” Tim mused as he climbed up to sit next to the Robin, “Weird, right? I’ve never gone above our floor in the building.”

“Do you miss it?” Damian asked, his voice raspy.

Tim tilted his head and considered the question. He knew the child was referring to flying through the sky, jumping from roof to roof, and just the whole job of vigilante in Gotham. “Sometimes.”

“Yeah,” the kid said, nodding, “Me too.”

They sat there for a while, the only noise between them was their own breathing. The sounds of the city floated up from the ground below. Shouting off the in distance. A police siren somewhere. Car horns. A dog barking. The murmur of a TV in an apartment below them where there was an open window.

Tim closed his eyes and let the city wash over him. As much as he enjoyed the dead silence of Bristol, there was nothing like living in the middle of a city. So much life going on. One could never feel alone surrounded by so much.

“Do you ever think about how weird it all is?” Damian asked, gaze fixed out in the distance.

“What is?”

“This,” he said, motioning to the city with a hand, “This world. This life. Everything.”

Tim hummed and shrugged. “I mean, yeah it’s kinda weird that we’ve been stranded in an alternate universe, but neither of us are new to living strange lives.”

“I just keep getting stuck on how we’re not- I’m not doing anything. Nothing I was trained to do. I’ve always known exactly who I am, who I was meant to be. I was literally born to be an assassin, a warrior, a soldier. Robin. To inherit the Batman and succeed Ra’s Al Ghul. But now…” he trailed off.

Tim sighed. “Doesn’t matter, Dames.”

“I know, I know. Spare me the lecture, you’ve said it plenty of times,” Damian said with a slight upturn of his lips.

Tim returned the smile and nodded for him to continue.

“It’s just I never really believed that, you know? We would go back to Gotham and I would continue my training as Robin to eventually follow in Father’s footsteps. But now. Now I’m not Robin or anything I was created to be. I’m just Damian.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Tim questioned.

“No. I’m not even Damian Wayne, though. I’m just Damian, some kid from Philadelphia no one’s heard of and-” he stopped to take a deep breath, “and I really like that,” he whispered, as if the mere words were treason. A crime.

“Yeah?” Tim asked softly, smiling slightly so the kid would know it’s okay.

Damian nodded and looked over at his older brother. “Yeah,” he replied confidently, “I like being my own person.”

“There’s a lot I miss about Gotham,” Tim said, fixing his own gaze out on the city, “I miss Bruce and Dick. Alfred. Steph and Jason. God help me, I even miss my job. Both of them, honestly.”

Damian nodded. “I miss them all, too. And Titus.”

Tim smiled sadly at the kid, then continued, “But I’ll tell you what I don’t miss. I don’t miss us fighting. I don’t miss being tired all the time or feeling forgotten and ignored. I don’t miss the constant stress of the world ending every two weeks or the pressure of being Red Robin put upon me by the family and by the hero community in general.”

“I miss having a mission,” Damian interjected, “Doing something for the greater good. Being driven for that mission.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, “but you can redirect that drive toward your passions. You can always start volunteering, too, if you want to do something for the community. There is plenty you can do to make the world a better place without being a vigilante.”

“True,” the kid agreed, then added, “I also don’t miss us fighting.”

Tim put his arm around the kid’s shoulders and pulled him to his side.

They sat there for a while, just staring out at the city.

“Is it betraying them to feel like I’m happier living with you?” Damian finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tim startled at the question, then asked, “Are you really happier with me?”

“Yes.”

He wrapped his other arm around Damian and rubbed his shoulder. “No,” he eventually said, “that’s not betraying them. You can’t help how you feel.” As an afterthought, he added, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Damian nodded and rested his head against Tim. “I feel so light here,” he said into Tim’s shirt, “so free.”

Tim smiled sadly and rested his head on top of Damian’s, “I know what you mean. I do, too.”

Damian sat up and asked, “Tim, are you happy here?

Tim released the kid, allowing the boy to sit up fully and responded, “I’m getting there.”

\----

The following Saturday, Jordan came over again, hoping to play video games with Tim all day, but Tim had a paper to write for a grant application.

So, Jordan played Zelda on Damian’s Switch, which Tim knew was going to piss the runt off when he got home, while Tim worked. As far as Tim could tell, Jordan had already played through further than Damian, and the brat had been working on the game for the couple weeks since Tim bought him it. Hopefully Jordan was not playing on Damian’s save file.

They’d both be dead if that were the case.

Tim tuned Jordan and the game out in favor of finishing his work. The faster he was done, the sooner he could join Jordan in ruining the kid’s game for him.

That’s why he didn’t notice when Jordan paused the game and started wandering the apartment to look at all the pictures.

“Who are all these people in this?” Jordan asked, looking at a copy of the only picture of all the boys and Bruce.

Tim looked up briefly, then returned to his work. “My dad and brothers.”

Jordan nodded and moved on to the collage of 12 pictures on the other wall. “You know,” he began, “My fiction writing professor shared a theory he heard about writing.”

“Hmm. What’s that?” he asked absently, not really paying attention.

“That writers aren’t actually making up a story but seeing into an alternate dimension and writing down what they’ve seen. So, following that theory, all fictional work isn’t really fictional, but just an alternate dimension.” He took a picture off the bookshelf and examined it closer.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Jordan turned the frame in his hand toward Tim and asked, “What did you say the names of all these people were?”

The teen looked up and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t.”

“Mm,” Jordan hummed disapprovingly, “So, this is Dick, right? Or is it Jason? And Alfred and Bruce.”

Tim blinked at his laptop screen, then looked up at Jordan in confusion.  How did Jordan even know that?

“Tim?” Jordan asked, smiling.

“Yeah?”

The smile on Jordan’s face grew wider as he asked, “Is the multiverse real?”

He stared at Jordan for several long minutes, contemplating the question. Answering this question honestly would absolutely blow their cover. Jordan could turn them into the police for fraud. Have Tim arrested and Damian taken away by CPS. They might even find out Tim lied about his age. He was 18 now, though, so he couldn’t hide behind being a minor.

But Tim actually looked at Jordan and saw that he wasn’t mad at Tim, and there was no malice in his gaze. In fact, he looked kind of excited, and Tim remembered that Jordan was his friend. He wouldn’t go ratting them out over this. And it was obvious by the look on his face that Jordan already _knew_ , and denying it might hurt their friendship more than affirming it would.

“Yeah,” he eventually said, looking back down at his laptop.

“No way man!” Jordan exclaimed, “Holy fuck. What’s it like to be Robin? Are the comics accurate? Dude, which comics are more accurate? How pissed are you that Tim Drake has been completely ignored in the Animated DCEU? Oh my God, this is amazing.”

Tim looked up as soon as Jordan first shouted, then just watched in amusement as the questions tumbled out of him like word vomit.

“Dude, I can’t believe this. Tell 10-year-old me my best friend is Tim Drake, I would never believe you. He was- you. You were always my favorite, you know? I was so pissed when they introduced the Damian character and made him Robin. Uh,” he flustered, “No offence. He’s a cool kid once you get to know him and all.”

“Jordan,” Tim said shortly, trying to shut the guy up, before letting out a laugh, “You’re such a fangirl, calm down.”

“Dude,” Jordan whined, “You aren’t crazy right? You aren’t crazy and have somehow convinced me of your delusions, right? How are you even here? I thought you were fictional.”

“Well, clearly I’m not,” Tim said, setting his laptop on the coffee table so he could talk with his hands more freely, “and whether you’re crazy is still up for debate. I, however, am not.”

“How, then?”

“Some goons shot us with a weird gun that was apparently a transporter, and it sent us here a bit over two years ago,” Tim said with a shrug, “We’ve been stuck since.”

Jordan joined Tim on the couch and said, “That’s why you’re studying the multiverse. So you two can go home.”

“Yep.”

“Damian is 12 now, so obviously the comics can’t be too accurate, since he’s 13 in the comics currently. What all _is_ accurate?”

Tim held his hands up in mock surrender, “No idea. Never read any of our comics. You’ll have to ask Damian.”

Jordan looked at Tim incredulously, “How can you not read your own comics? Dude they’re about you, that’s so cool.”

“Exactly, and no, that’s so awkward. I don’t want to relive my life, thanks.”

“Fine,” Jordan huffed, “I’ll pick Damian’s brain about it.”

\----

Jordan returned the next day with a whole stack of comics, much to Damian’s delight. Tim had filled him in on the whole Jordan-knows thing, and he was looking forward to talking with someone honestly about his life. Well, he didn’t exactly say any of that, but Tim could tell he was happy to finally have someone other than Tim he could be himself with.

Tim was mostly ignoring their conversation while he read his own book. No matter how many times Jordan shoved a comic at him, Tim did not give in and read any of them. He was not interested.

Then he heard Jordan say something that gave him pause.

“Wait, what?” Tim asked suddenly, interrupting whatever it was they were talking about.

“What?” Damian asked, clearly confused.

Tim sat up and closed his book. “People voted on whether Jason died?” he demanded, horrified. How could anyone vote for a 15-year-old to be beat to death and blown up by the Joker? Why was that even a thing?

“Yes?” Jordan said, exchanging a glance with Damian.

“Did you not know this, Timothy?” the brat asked.

“But…” Tim said slowly, “He actually died.”

“Yes,” Damian agreed.

“Does this universe control ours, then?” Tim asked, looking at the comic of Jason’s death Jordan had sitting on the couch between him and Damian, “Do we even have free will there? What the fuck.”

It didn’t make sense. Tim had always assumed the comics were just random stories about their lives, but they were still in control. He and Damian were able to do as they pleased in this universe, after all. There wasn’t anyone pulling their strings.

But if Jason’s death was one voted on by the people, then written in… only for that to be the exact way he died in their reality.

What the fuck.

“Tim,” Damian said, pulling the teen from his thoughts, “There are many versions of our lives in the comics. Not all are accurate. None are completely accurate. Besides, in the comics I died at age 10, and clearly I did not.”

“ _You_ were supposed to die? Holy fuck.”

“Have you not read our comics?” Damian asked, honestly surprised.

“No!” Tim exclaimed, “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to deal with reading all about myself.”

“They’re entertaining,” Damian said, rifling through the pile Jordan had brought and pulling out a single issue with an image of Robin depicted as an angel, his cape made to be wings, and the letters “R.I.P.” at the bottom. He handed the book to Tim, who took it hesitantly.

“I don’t,” he started, then stopped. “I don’t want to read about you dying.”

“It’s a good book and it didn’t actually happen, so no need to get all worked up over it,” Damian dismissed, flipping through some other comic to find whatever he was looking for now.

“I’d agree it’s a good issue.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like Damian.”

Damian scowled at Jordan, who looked betrayed.

“I said at first,” he replied hastily, “At first,” he assured towards Damian, “because you usurped Tim, okay? That’s it. I was just a huge fan of Robin. I like you now, in real life and in the comics.”

The brat gave Jordan a long a calculating look before rolling his eyes and looking back at his book. “Tt. That’s fair, I suppose.”

Tim sighed and started reading through the comic. “You named the cat Alfred. That’s so you.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I would not have named the cat after Pennyworth. That is just childish.”

“You named our cat after your acting teacher,” Tim deadpanned.

“Shut up, Drake.”

“Make me, Wayne.”

Damian ducked his head to hide his smile as he finally found the page he wanted. He waited patiently for Tim to finish reading, the thrust the issue of Teen Titans at Tim. “Read this, now.”

Tim took the comic and handed the first one back to Damian. “I hope this one is better, because that was _not_ a good comic. You died. 0 out of 10 stars. Hated it.”

“Just shut up and read that one,” the brat demanded.

“Which one is it?” Jordan asked, peeking at the pages Tim was on, “Oh, that one.”

“Is this me?” Tim said, pointing at the main character, who was crying and hugging onto Damian, “I guess this is me. God, I look so tiny.”

“You are tiny,” Jordan offered.

“Shut up.” Tim continued reading and added, “Alfred was so surprised I hugged him. We should hug Alfred more.”

After Tim read through the scene, Damian took the book and said, “See, it’s not completely accurate.”

“Well, duh,” Tim said, rolling his eyes, “you didn’t die.”

“No,” Damian said impatiently, “you would not have reacted like that.”

“Um. I would have cried if you died, Demon.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed as he searched through the books again.

“Seriously?” Tim exasperated, “Do you not remember me protecting you from those stupid thugs before they sent us here?”

“You were playing a role. It was an act,” Damian shot back.

Jordan just looked back and forth between them, obviously wishing he were anywhere but sitting in the corner of the couch, between the two brothers.

“Well, yeah, but I also didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Tt.”

Tim sighed, frustrated at the stupid little brat. “We are not having this argument again. I can’t believe you still have this insecurity. I cared about you long before we wound up here, kay? Stop doubting me.”

“Whatever, Drake.”

“Don’t ‘whatever, Drake’ me, _Wayne_. It’s true. Now find me a happy comic to read. I’m done reading about my brothers dying.”

Jordan let out a laugh and said, “Batman comics? Happy?”

“Grayson #12 is a happy comic,” Damian offered.

“Yes! Did I bring that one?”

“I have it,” Damian said, hopping off the couch to retrieve it from his room.

“Okay,” Jordan said, sporting a goofy grin, “that is adorable.”

“Why?” Tim asked, curious why it was ‘adorable’ Damian owned that particular comic.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

\----

It had become a thing. Whenever Damian had a performance for whatever play he was in, Kyla attended the play with Tim. The girl loved musical theater, apparently, and had really taken a liking to Damian.

Damian even seemed to enjoy the girl attending. He always smiled when he saw Tim and Kyla in the audience and never once demand to know why she was there.

And so, Tim found himself sitting next to Kyla while they watched Damian perform in the show _Matilda_. He had his first solo in this play. First solo at this level of shows, that is. That one school play didn’t count, apparently, according to the brat.

It was only a few lines long, but that didn't matter to him. He was very excited about the performance.

When he came out on stage and started singing ‘When I grow up,’ Kyla cooed and squeezed Tim’s arm. “He’s so freaking cute,” she whispered, leaning her head against Tim’s shoulder.

Tim smiled at the comment and continued watching Damian’s performance.

He really was cute.

And he was happy.

Tim was pretty happy, too.


	21. Two Years and Six Months

Grad school was incredible. Tim had an assistantship, which meant he was helping one of his professors with research. That research actually had a lot of downtime, waiting for results to be calculated by a computer, patterns to be analyzed. It left him free time to do his own research, and his own research was encouraged.

And as the saying goes, old habits die hard. Between his normal job, the new assistantship, and his classes, Tim found himself working pretty much nonstop.

He and Damian kept their morning routine intact. They still worked out every morning and ate breakfast together, but then they went their own separate ways. Damian took the train to his middle school while Tim headed down to RI to get a few hours of work in before he needed to be on campus.

Nothing else of their week remained steady. Damian somehow kept up all his clubs and continued on with his dance and fencing lessons throughout the school year. His lessons mostly started around 6 and lasted until 8 or 9, depending on the day.

As a result, nightly dinners went out the window in favor of each boy grabbing food whenever they could from wherever they could find it.

Tim missed it, of course, but he was too busy to dwell on it that long. His assistantship paid him a modest stipend, so they could afford the change just fine. Tim mused that he was one of the few graduate students in his cohort actually doing fine money-wise, even with how expensive Damian was making himself with all his hobbies.

Most evenings Tim spent in the lab, working through whatever project his professor had him working on and toying with his own theory. He needed to figure out what normal looked like so when he began studying the exact moment he and Damian fell through the portal, he’d recognize the difference.

One day in early October, Tim was in the lab toying with some results when someone entered. It was a shared lab, so it wasn’t unusual for someone to come in while he was working. But at half past 8, it was a bit strange.

Tim was one of the few students who had a full-time job outside of school, which meant had had to stay later than the others to get all his hours in. Because actually, students were not allowed to hold jobs outside of their assistantships. Tim had gotten special approval to keep his job.

Regardless, Tim didn’t even look up from his work when whoever it was came in. That is, not until she was standing right up next to him, completely invading his personal space.

“Uh, Kyla?” was all he could say when he finally looked over at the intruding presence.

The girl beamed, “Hey, Timmy!” as she set a bag down on the table in front of them to give Tim a hug.

Tim returned it awkwardly, slightly bewildered by her random appearance, and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing dinner,” she replied, pulling out take-out boxes and chopsticks, “Want some? I got Chinese!”

“Uh,” he said. He still had no idea what was going on. How did Kyla even know where his lab was? How did she know he was at the lab? Why had she brought dinner? And what on earth had he been thinking about before she so rudely interrupted? Dammit. Good thing he takes good notes, hopefully he could get back on that train of thought once she left.

Kyla shot Tim a disapproving look and said, “Was I right to assume you forgot to eat?”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. “Well, I mean…” he trailed off. So, yeah maybe he hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch, which was just a bag of chips from the vending machine. He was going to eat when he got home. No big deal.

“Great! Orange chicken?” Kyla shoved a box into Tim’s hands and passed him a set of chopsticks.

Instead of fighting it, Tim just smiled and said, “Sure,” as he sat down for them to eat, “thanks. How’d you know where to find me?”

“Damian tattled,” she said, smug as hell, as she sat down next to Tim with her own box of food. “He said you don’t get home until 9 or 10 and usually skip dinner.”

Tim scrunched his face at the accusation. How the hell did Damian even know that? And why’d he go telling Kyla, of all people, about it. “You talk to Damian?”

“Yeah, duh, he’s such a cutie. I texted him earlier asking where you’d been since you fell off the face of the planet like a month ago.”

“I did not fall off the face of the planet.” Had he done that, he wouldn’t be working so damn hard on the multiverse problem.

“You stopped inviting me and Jordan over for dinner,” she said, flinging her balled up chopsticks wrapper at Tim, “So yeah, you did.”

Tim frowned as he caught the projectile, placing it in the garbage pile on the table. “I’ve been busy,” he said lamely.

She huffed, “Too busy for your friends? Loser.”

“Hey, I got a lot going on!”

She flashed Tim a bright smile that made him shudder. Nothing good was about to come out of her mouth. “That’s fine. I’ll just harass you while you do your little lab work.”

“You guys can come over Saturday,” he mumbled, “we don’t often have stuff going on around dinner time.”

“Good. We’ll come over Saturdays, _and_ I’ll harass you during your lab work. It’s a win-win.”

Tim groaned, “Kyla.” He hadn’t invited her over _every_ Saturday, and he certainly didn’t want her bothering him while he was working.

Kyla waved a hand at Tim, as if she were reading his mind and dismissing his thoughts.  “It’s too late. I know where you live.” After Tim shot her an exasperated look, she added, “Relax, I’ll let you get _some_ work done.”

“I hate you,” Tim said, stabbing at his chicken with his chopsticks. He did like that he was eating chicken, though. So that was good.

Kyla just grinned.

\----

Wednesday was the only day Damian did not have an evening activity. On this particular Wednesday, one of Tim’s cohort had been blasting a horrendous playlist in the lab of what he claimed was ‘music,’ driving Tim to just go home early. He could have easily forced the issue and made the offender turn his music off, but Tim wasn’t in the mood to create enemies.

He’d already hit his required hours for the week, anyway, and had an analysis running for his personal project that wouldn’t go any faster with him standing there. So, Tim found himself entering the apartment at 7, to the utter amazement of Damian, who briefly looked up and gave a smile, before going back to whatever he was doing.

The brat was engrossed in some weird project. He had bits and pieces of _something_ scattered about the island while he was detaching things from the motherboard of whatever it was.

“Uh, Damian?” he asked as he shed himself of his jacket and hung it up on the hook, “What are you doing?”

The kid motioned at the array of parts and explained, “Upgrading this dinosaur to run faster.”

“Okay,” Tim said slowly as he approached the island, “What is it?” He picked up a piece of the case to inspect. “An xbox?”

Damian nodded and pointed for Tim to put it back and stop touching. “Jordan said it probably just needed a new hard drive. I decided to upgrade to a solid-state drive.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. That didn’t really explain anything. Sure, the kid was upgrading an xbox. Fine. He’d gotten into video games in the past year or so, so it wasn’t that big of a leap, but there was a soldering kit out on the counter.

“Okay, but what’s with the soldering?”

The boy shrugged. “There are some damaged connections.”

Taking a seat across from Damian at the island, Tim inspected the newly discarded motherboard, making a show of not touching it. “Where did you even get all this?”

Damian huffed an annoyed breath and rolled his eyes. “Mugged a homeless woman, obviously. I bought it, idiot.”

Tim snorted. Right. “Okay, next question. Why did you do all this?”

“I’m bored,” was all the kid had to offer.

“Uh huh. Right. I didn’t know you even know how this stuff worked.”

Now Damian was offended, Tim could tell. He’d stiffened and given Tim a horrified glare before scoffing, “Of course I know how technology works, _Drake,_ I am Robin.”

“I never saw you doing this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, well, you never saw much, anyway,” Damian dismissed with another roll of his eyes.

“Fair,” Tim conceded. And it was true. He’d tended to avoid Damian back in the day, and rarely paid attention to what the kid was doing or what his interests were. But their relationship was in a good place now. He should have known, now.

“I am starving,” Damian said, in an obvious attempt to bring the mood back to happy, “Make me dinner.”

Tim let out a laugh and said, “Wow, so demanding.”

Damian grinned. “Tt.”

Standing, Tim looked around the kitchen, trying to decide on what to make before he realized something. “I can’t. You’re hogging my counter.”

“There is plenty of counter over there,” the brat pointed out, gesturing toward the counter space against the wall, “and it’s my counter, too. I was here first.”

“I pay for it,” Tim protested. He liked the island better. Working at the counter against the wall just wasn’t as fun as working at the island.

Damian raised an eyebrow and said, “You are the one who insisted I attend public school instead of help out.”

Tim rolled his eyes. Damian never once offered to ‘help out.’ Besides, how on earth could a 10-year-old have ‘helped out’ with bills. For heaven sake. “You love school, be quiet.”

“Tt. Irrelevant.”

“You’re such a shit,” Tim said as he opened the fridge to inspect the contents. He actually hadn’t bought stuff to make dinners recently. They really only had breakfast stuff at the ready.

“With you as a role model, are you surprised?”

“No way,” Tim protested, “This attitude predates me. Move your stuff.”

“No,” he complained, holding his arms out over his project, as if to protect it from Tim, “Use the counter over there.”

Tim frowned. “But that counter is dark. I can’t see as well.”

“We can install lights, you dumbass.” Damian started at plugging in the new drive to the xbox, all the while checking and double checking every connection.

The teen sat down at the island again and rested his chin in his hand, pouting. “That’s too much work.”

“I will install lights, then. Tonight, make dinner in the dark.”

“No. We’ll just order in.” Tim pulled his phone out of his pocket and started looking at the options. “Indian or Chinese?”

Damian paused in his work for a second, then said, “Oh. Indian.”

“Cool.” Tim picked their favorite Indian place and started building the order for delivery. “Have you considered replacing the optical drive? You could turn it into a Blu-ray player.”

“The machine is designed to only work with this type of drive,” he replied, shaking his head, “Any other would not function. The programming will not allow it.”

Tim pressed order on his phone, then set it down on the island to look Damian in the eyes. “Oh, come on. You don’t think two Robins can figure it out? I can show you how to mess with the coding.”

At that, the little brat seemed to light up, gracing Tim with a full-face smile. “Okay.”

“Cool.”

Five hours, an Indian dinner, and a trip to Best Buy later, Tim and Damian were booting up the newly repaired xbox, now hooked up to the television.

“You know,” Tim said as he watched Damian start into the Fallout game they’d bought during their shopping trip, “You’d really like the lab.”

“I would,” Damian admitted, not looking away from the screen.

“You should come hang out sometime.”

At that, the brat paused the game and looked over. After a moment of contemplation, he turned back and started playing the game again. “I will.” 

From then on, Damian came over every Wednesday as soon as his art club let out. Tim quickly grew to love the time. The brat was fascinated by physics and he hadn’t even noticed. He knew the kid was good with cars and stuff, mostly because Dick had said so. Mechanics. But physics? No clue.

He should have realized, though. Quantum _mechanics_. He liked learning how things worked. Of course the brat would be interested in how the universe worked.

Tim found that by walking Damian through whatever problem he was stuck on, he often came up with the solutions on his own. And when he didn’t, Damian had half a dozen thoughts to provide to help move him in the right direction of solving the issue.  

He really loved having Damian around.

\----

This year, Tim did not let Christmas sneak up on them. At least they’d purchased and decorated a tree the previous year, but that was really all they had done. Tim was determined to make their shared winter break a fun one.

That’s why the day after Damian’s school let out, the boys boarded a plane for Phoenix, Arizona. They were going to explore the Sonoran Desert and then make their way up to go backpacking in the Grand Canyon.

As they flew over the Rockies, Damian peered down out the window and commented, “You know, I spent a lot of my time growing up in the Himalayas.”

“I did know that,” Tim said absently while he worked through the crossword puzzle he was messing with on his tablet, “And in the desert, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, “but the mountains here, they’re closer to the look of the Himalayas than the Appalachians are.”

“That’s because the Appalachians are an older mountain range. Over time they’ve softened-“

“Yes,” Damian interrupted, his voice sharp and annoyed, “I am aware how tectonic plates work and how mountain ranges are formed. I was just saying they’re pretty.”

Tim finally looked up from his game and said, “Sorry. I agree, they are pretty.”

“Perhaps we can visit the Himalayas sometime?” he asked hopefully, staring back down at the mountain range beneath them.

“I wish,” Tim said, frowning, “but it’s actually pretty hard to take a kid out of the country when they aren’t yours.” And it was true. Even children travelling with just a single parent usually needed a letter from the absent parent stating they had permission to leave the country.

Tim didn’t actually need that, obviously, but border agents didn’t know that. They were going to take one look at Tim, a white teenager who _apparently_ didn’t look 18, travelling with Damian, a mixed kid who looked absolutely nothing like Tim and just assume ‘human trafficking.’ He didn’t want to deal with that. He didn’t want Damian to have to deal with that. And he didn’t want anyone looking too closely at their paperwork.

Damian looked over and gave Tim a disbelieving look. He’d grown up practically royalty, then transitioned to the famous son of a billionaire. His experience with travel had always been hop on the private jet and go there. He wasn’t fully aware how it all worked.

“We’ll no doubt end up being questioned many, many times if we tried to leave the country and I don’t really want to deal with all that,” Tim explained, “Perhaps when we return home we can make it one of our first vacations?”

“That would be enjoyable,” Damian nodded, “we could bring Richard and Father along, as well.”

“I highly doubt they let us out of their sight for a while after we get back, kid.”

Damian smiled.

\----

On day seven of their trip, the boys finally began their hike down into the canyon. They had stopped at an outdoor store and purchased everything they needed to go backpacking, since they hadn’t owned anything already, and were excited to try out their new gear.

Tim found the exercise extremely exhausting, and it was strange. He was in _good shape_. Yes, he wasn’t as fit as he had been as Red Robin, but he wasn’t out of shape either.

But this was intense. They weren’t even hiking fast. It was almost leisurely, their pace.

“It’s the altitude change,” Damian said simply as they continued their descent. “We are used to living at sea level, and the rim of the canyon is at 7000 ft. We did well to slowly ascend to the rim over the last week, preventing altitude sickness, but it’s going to hit us pretty hard as we hike down and back up.”

Tim huffed a breath and sat down dramatically on a rock along the path, “That’s stupid,” he grumbled, taking a sip of water.

Damian, seemingly unaffected by the altitude, quirked his lip and said, “What’s the matter, Tim? Can’t handle it?”

“Shut up, Demon. How’re you even dealing with this so well?”

That caused Damian to frown slightly and avert his gaze further into the canyon. “I’ve been climbing mountains since I was three.”

Right. Of course he has.

“You learn how to adjust or you die. It’s just that simple.”

“Well that’s not depressing or anything,” Tim mumbled as he stood to keep going.

Damian shrugged. “That’s life.”

“Is this okay?” Tim said suddenly, realization hitting him painfully, “This little hike? Camping? Are you okay with it?” He didn’t even think to _ask_ if the brat _wanted_ to go backpacking, just assumed he’d enjoy the activity. But if it was triggering painful childhood memories, maybe they should turn back and go visit the mules at Grand Canyon Village or something. Take pictures of the elk.

“Yes?” the kid said, clearly confused.

“I mean it,” Tim asserted, “Are you okay with hiking and camping? If you don’t want to, just say so and we’ll find something better to do.”

“Timothy, it’s fine,” he assured, then after a beat, added, “I am enjoying myself.”

“Okay,” Tim said with a nod, finally walking forward again. “Just, tell me if you aren’t okay with something, okay? Please? I don’t mean to be all…” Tim shook his head and shrugged.

“Aside from taking out the trash, you haven’t made me to anything I don’t want to. And the thought you could _make_ me do something is laughable. No one can ever force another person to do something.” After a moment, he added a bit more bitterly, “No one could ever force me to do something.”

“That’s not true,” Tim said, kicking a rock off the edge of the path so it tumbled down several hundred feet, “what if someone is holding a gun to your head?”

“I still have a choice. It’s a pretty terrible choice, but I have to actively choose to do what they want or accept the consequences. In the end, I still chose.”

“What if I grab your hand and make you press a button? Or pull a trigger. That’s me making you do something.”

“It’s not. If you take away my agency, it is no longer me committing the action, but you. As long as I still have agency, I am the one responsible for my actions.”

“I’m pretty sure this is victim blaming, Dames,” Tim said.

“No,” Damian said confidently, “it’s refusing to be the victim.”

Tim hummed in acknowledgment, letting silence envelop them while he mulled over the kid’s thoughts. It was some pretty deep-thinking for a 12-year-old. 13? He was technically 13. Had they not switched universes and lost a couple months, he would have turned 13 already.

Damn. He was a teenager. Should he stop calling him ‘kid’ then? He kind of liked the moniker for his little brother. It had started off as a term to simply annoy Damian, but then Tim had gotten attached to it, and Damian quit complaining.

It seemed kind of insulting to use, considering the boy- no. man? person? Damian. Considering Damian had just let Tim see exactly how mature he was. Sure, there were a lot of stubborn children out there, but not many had given thought to why they were stubborn.

In all honesty, Damian wasn’t unnecessarily stubborn, either. He played along when it was required, when it was better for him.  He did as he was told when he knew it wasn't to harm him. His stubbornness was born from the need to protect himself, and Tim couldn’t blame him.

He was just sad the kid had ever needed to protect himself so viciously.

Wait. No. Not kid.

Whatever. He was gonna call him “kid” anyway.

 

They set up camp at the bottom of the canyon, both excited about seeing the night sky. They’d seen stars several times already during their trip, but they’d spent most of their time near cities. Supposedly the Milky Way was visible from the bottom of the canyon, and Tim was excited.

Without the possibility of rain, they left the fly off the tent so they could look up and see the sky from inside. All that was between them and the dazzling display of lights was a thin mesh designed to only keep out insects.

“This is weird,” Damian said from where he was lying next to Tim in their tent. They had already admired the stars for a couple hours, and after nearly dozing off, decided to retire to the tent for the night.

“What’s that?” Tim asked sleepily.

“Camping. Backpacking. Whatever. For fun.”

“How so?” Tim was tired. He wanted to sleep.

“Both Mother and Father would have turned this vacation into training. But we haven’t done that.”

“No,” Tim said, resigning himself to being awake a bit longer. “Vacation and training are two things that shouldn’t mix.”

“I like that," Damian said as he yawned, "We should do vacations more.”

"Yeah," Tim agreed.  They should.

\----

In early February, Tim found it. He found a discrepancy in the exact moment they arrived on the planet, a split second when the particles shifted. Now if only he could figure out what had caused it, and why it allowed him and Damian to move between the universes.

He redoubled his efforts and even enlisted Damian in reviewing the evidence he’d found. Through more tests, he found seven more instances where the exact thing happened, all right around where they had landed. Right where Gotham was in their world.

As far as he could tell, though, no other multi-dimensional travelers had come through. None of the disturbances were large enough to have been people. Perhaps small objects.

“What on earth does that even mean, Timbers,” Kyla said after Tim had been mumbling to himself about his findings.

Kyla had made it a habit to visit him once or twice a week, always bringing food, while he worked in the lab. She’d become such a constant presence, Tim tended to forget she was even around. She was a good springboard for bouncing ideas off, as well. Not as quick as Damian, not as understanding of the issue, but still helpful when Tim just needed someone to be the listener while he formed his thoughts into words.

“Huh?” Tim said, looking up from his notes, “Oh. I don’t know. If my theory is correct, someone in another multiverse is using a portal to send things to our universe. But only objects, not people.”

“Interesting, if true,” she hummed, looking back down at her own homework. She was in her final semester of college, looking forward to law school in the fall. “You know,” she said, the smirk evident to Tim in her voice, “if you were still hungry, you could have just asked for the rest of my fries.”

“What?” Tim said, looking up with confusion.

“Although, it is kind of cute how you chew on your pencil.”

“Oh,” Tim said, looking down at the chewed-up pencil, “shove it, Kyla.” He flung the pencil at her and pulled another out of the cup on the table. “Now shush, I’m working.”

“So why would someone be sending objects through?” she wondered, echoing Tim’s own thoughts.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re testing the portal and don’t want to use it on people. Or maybe it’s a natural phenomenon.”

“Maybe that’s where the socks go!” she shouted.

Tim smiled, but didn’t react otherwise. Maybe they were testing the portal… Maybe someone had found the portal gun and was trying to figure out what it did? Hopefully whoever it was wasn’t going to start using it nefariously. Tim could do without a bunch of people from their universe being stranded suddenly in this one.

He looked closely again at the location of the disturbances, and noticed the last several had actually been across the river.  

Where Bristol was in their world.  

Where the cave was.

Batman had confiscated the weapon.

If Bruce could hurry up and figure out where they’d gone, that’d be great. It would save Tim a lot of work.

\----

“Ah, the interlopers,” Damian said as he entered the apartment one Saturday. He had been at dress rehearsals all day and was only getting back home in time for dinner. And, of course, it being Saturday meant Kyla and Jordan were over for dinner.

“Love you too, Dami,” Kyla said, as she always did when Damian complained about her presence.

“You know,” Tim said from where he was finishing dinner, “you can always invite your friends over to annoy _us._ ”

“Really can’t,” he replied as he joined them at the island, “None of their parents are comfortable with them coming over to a house with a teenage boy as the only supervision.”

Damian said it so casually, so flippantly, Tim almost just shrugged and moved past it.

But.

Having friends over to your house, having friends share dinner with you and your family, it was something important. One of the joys of childhood. But because Damian was being raised by a teenager, by _Tim_ , and not Bruce, he was missing out on a hallmark of childhood. He couldn’t show his friends his room. Have them play video games with them or watch movies or have sleepovers.

“You aren’t getting all guilt-complex over this, are you?” Damian asked, clearly amused. “There’s nothing stopping me from going over to _their_ places, you know?”

“That’s pretty bullshit,” Kyla said, scowling, “Timmy is such a nice guy. How dare they assume their kids wouldn’t be safe.”

“It’s better for Tim, too,” Jordan added, “it prevents anyone from being able to falsely accuse him of something. If little 12-year-old girls aren’t hanging around him without other adults present, no one can say he did anything to said 12-year-old girls.”

“None of this is making me feel better,” Tim pointed out, “but point seen. Damian, go over to your friends’ houses, then.”

The kid shrugged and got up to fetch plates, recognizing Tim was just about done fixing the pasta dish they were having. “I see plenty of my friends.” Tim interpreted that as, I see my friends more than I see my brother, why would I choose to see them over seeing him?

“That’s so sweet,” Kyla cooed. Apparently, she had learned to speak Damian, as well.

Damian rolled his eyes but smiled at his big brother. “Need any help?”

“Sure.” Tim scooped out generous helpings of the ricotta spinach pasta he’d made and let Damian pass the plates out.

\----

July 19th came around, and Tim briefly wondered where on earth all the time went. Because of how little time Tim spends in the office anymore, they didn’t have a big celebration at work. Paul, however, insisted they meet for lunch so Paul could ‘treat’ him.

And so, Tim obliged. He was turning 19, but to the outside world, he was now 21. A full-fledged adult. He had to go get a new ID soon, one that didn’t warn he was underage. That was kind of amusing.

Paul chose a quaint bistro near campus, one where there was enough privacy to have a decent conversation without feeling like everyone was listening. The food was pretty good, too.

“So,” Paul said, after they’d been half way through their sandwiches, “how old are you now?”

Tim raised an eyebrow and said, “21,” without skipping a beat. He was so invested in their cover story, he often had to think about how old he actually was. His fake age came to mind, first.

“No,” Paul said with a touch of reprimand in his voice, “how old are you _actually?_ ”

“I don’t know what-” Tim began, playing ‘honestly confused’ flawlessly. If it were anyone but Paul, they would have bought it.

But this was Paul.

The man sighed, “If I wanted to report you I would have done so years ago.” When Tim didn’t respond or react at all, he continued, “I knew from the beginning. Before I even hired you. You seemed too young, and when I learned you were caring for a younger brother, I assumed you were escaping a bad situation and left it at that.”

“Paul, I’m really not-” Tim tried, but was cut off by his boss.

“Meeting you and seeing how absolutely mature you were for your age just solidified my theory. Faking your age and all the paperwork isn’t the best way to go about it, but you were using your superpower hacking skills for good, so I didn’t have to worry. If you wanted to take on the responsibility of college, full time work, and raising a child at fifteen, who was I to stop you? And if I hired you, it meant I could be there to offer support to someone who needed it.”

Tim sighed and picked at his sandwich for a moment. That made so much sense. Why Paul has always acted so damn paternal toward Tim and Damian. Why he was also concerned and quick to give advice, acting as if Tim were his own kid, even when they had only known each other mere hours. “I was sixteen,” he eventually said, not looking up from his plate.

At that, Paul smiled wide. “Even better.”

“You were really okay with it?” he asked, looking Paul right in the eyes. Not many people, not many _bosses_ would ever say they were okay with being lied to. Heck. Tim hadn’t even told Jordan he was younger than he claimed legally, and Jordan knew more about Tim than anyone else from this universe.

Paul nodded. “I’ll admit, when you told me you weren’t actually related to Damian it threw me for a loop, but by then I knew you pretty well so I knew everything was okay. Had I known that bit of information before meeting you, I probably would have asked a lot of questions.”

“We really _are_ adopted brothers,” Tim asserted, a bit annoyed now, “I wasn’t lying about that.”

“I believe you,” Paul said, taking a sip of his soda, “So you’re 19 now?”

“Yeah.”

“Happy birthday, Tim. If you decide to use that ID of yours, please be responsible about it, okay? You’ve got a kid to look out for.”

Tim gave Paul a smile, “Don’t worry, I’m a bit too busy to bother with the bar scene.”

“So why now?” Tim asked as they were leaving the restaurant, “I mean, why tell me you knew now?”

“Thought you were turning 18 today,” Paul said simply, “Didn’t want you to worry about me knowing before you were legally an adult.”

“Oh, well. Thanks. For everything.”

“Of course, kid,” Paul said, clapping a hand on Tim’s shoulder before they parted ways. Tim to school and Paul back to RI. “And I’m still here if you need me.”

\---

Tim could hear the faint sound of metal clicking as he approached the martial arts studio where Damian was currently practicing his fencing. Tim had thought it strange that fencing occurred at a martial arts studio, but apparently the man who owned the studio was Pat Mercier’s brother, and the two simply shared a space to save on cost.

He smiled at one of the instructors as he entered the room where Damian was most likely. He didn’t often get to watch his little brother in action and was a little intrigued to see how the teen trained.

The 13-year-old was standing in the middle of the room, arm outstretched with his sabre in hand, watching as his instructor corrected part of his form. Tim watched in amusement as the man demonstrated how easy it was to swing around Damian’s block and knock him on the shoulder. He had no idea Damian could possibly learn anything new. With as hard as he had been training all year, and how well he had been doing in competitions, it was impressive he still had things to learn.

It took another minute for Tim’s presence to be noticed, not that he minded.

“Tim,” Damian said, clearly startled by Tim’s appearance, “What are you doing here?”

“Professor kicked me out of the lab. Apparently, I’m not allowed to work past 5 on my ‘21st birthday.’ Dumb, right?” Tim had to laugh, especially since he wasn’t really turning 21, anyway. Everyone was expecting him to go get shit-faced with his friends that evening, but Tim had absolutely no desire to do so. Negative desire, actually.

“Yes, very.”

“I just came over here because I knew you’d be heading home in about an hour, and since I had to pass by here anyway I might as well just wait for you.” What he didn’t add was he’d much rather sit where he could watch Damian doing something he loved than sit at home alone.

Damian seemed to understand his reasoning anyway, because his eyes lit up with a simile, even while his face remained neutral. Tim returned the smile and sat on the ground against the wall, pulling out his laptop to work. He could probably knock out a paper for his quantum mechanics course.

“Tim,” Damian interrupted ten minutes later, “spar with me.”

Tim looked up to glare at the kid. “Um, no. I’ve never-” He couldn’t say never fenced. While it was true, he knew how to wield a sword, and was quite efficient with a Bo staff. “It’s been a long time, kid.”

“My training partner is out sick, unless you spar with me, my time today is going to waste.”

“I don’t see how sparring with me makes it any less of a waste. I’m rusty.”

Damian grinned, “I didn’t say you’d win.”

“I don’t have sweats.”

“Tt. I have an extra pair in my bag. The shorts should fit you fine, they are only slightly too large for me.”

“I-” Tim paused. He was just looking for excuses, and why? Maybe this could be fun. “Fine.”

Three minutes later, Tim had kicked his dress shoes off and was wearing the shorts and his undershirt. The ground was soft and warm against his bare feet. It was a martial arts studio, after all. People normally worked here without shoes.

Damian had peeled off his layers of protective gear and similarly relieved himself of his shoes. Tim grinned. The kid wanted to have the freedom to move. This wasn’t going to stay in fencing long, Tim already knew it.

They sparred every morning, of course. It kept them sane. Kept them fit. But there wasn’t much room in their tiny apartment, even when they pushed all the furniture against the wall. Here there was space. So much space.

Damian tossed a sabre to Tim, who held it in his hands and got a feel for the weight. It was much lighter than a real sword, flimsier. He swung it, adjusting his hold until it felt natural, then got into the ready position he’d seen Damian take up a hundred of times before. “Let’s do this.”

“Go,” Damian said just before he lunged for Tim. He easily deflected and moved away before launching his own attack. They weren’t actually fencing. They were full on sword fighting, with the sabers. Probably ruining the sabers. He’d have to replace them for Damian.

Tim did not care, this was fun.

It took ten minutes of attacking and parrying for Damian to finally knock Tim’s weapon out of his hands. Tim was surprised it had taken that long. Three years ago and the brat would have done it in one.

The saber clattered to the ground a few feet away from the two. Before Damian could even tap Tim with his blade, however, Tim reacted.

He took two quick steps toward the wall to his left, jumped up it, and kicked off, launching his weight up and over Damian in a flip through the air. Laughing, he landed in a roll on the ground behind Damian, grabbing his saber as he regained his feet.

It felt so good to incorporate acrobatics into their sparring. They could never do flips in the apartment. The space was far too small. They could practice outside, at the park, but they never dared spar in public. Too big a chance someone would see and report them for fighting, or something stupid.

“That,” Damian said, lowering his blade, “is cheating.”

“If we never established rules, there’s no such thing as cheating.”

“If that’s how you want to play it, Drake, then it’s on,” Damian said menacingly as he made to lunge at Tim.

“Wait,” Tim said lifting one hand in the air to pause the match, “one rule. No actually injuring each other. I don’t have the time for a visit to the ER or the seventeen visits from social services it’ll prompt.”

“Tt. Very well.”

“Good. Go.”

Their spar lasted an hour. It only took about fifteen minutes for them to lose the sabers and switch to hand-to-hand, and neither of them held back. They shifted through the dozen martial art forms they knew, mixing them together as they had done so many times before on the streets of Gotham.

With all the space, they were able to finally do as many flips and jumps as they wanted. Both of them were rusty, but it was exhilarating to finally be back in their element. Tim was vaguely aware of the audience their spar attracted. Because they had no secret identities to protect in this world, he didn’t care who saw what they could do. It didn’t matter.

“Watch your left,” Tim instructed as he threw a punch, “you’re dropping your guard.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed as he corrected his form. Even after nearly three years, Tim still had things to teach Damian. Sometimes, during their spars, Damian was the one to correct Tim, but more often than not, Tim was the instructor and Damian was the student. It still seemed strange, sometimes, to have enough of the child’s respect that he could teach him anything.

Finally, Tim decided they’d sparred enough. He quickly flipped behind Damian and trapped the boy in a choke hold, lightly though, so he wasn’t actually choking the child. It was still conveying the fact that he could have choked him out right then and there.

“Tt,” the kid said, panting heavily, “I yield.”

Tim released Damian and took a step back. “That was great.” He put his hands on his knees and worked on catching his breath. “Not sure how it helped you with your fencing, though.”

“That was incredible,” someone in the audience said.

The boys looked up for the first time to acknowledge the crowd. There was an entire class of Judo students, three of the martial arts instructors, and Damian’s fencing coach.

“Thanks,” Tim said as he began stretching his muscles.

“I had no idea you two could do this. Where did you learn?” Pat asked.

Tim looked to Damian, expecting the child to respond. When he didn’t Tim supplied, “Our dad.”

Short. Sweet. Simple. Perhaps not entirely true for Damian, however. He had learned his skills while with the League of Assassins, and mostly while studying under Dick. Bruce had spent very little time training his son before Tim and Damian got trapped in this world. He blinked at his realization. _Tim_ had spent more time than Dick and Bruce combined training the young Robin.

Now that. That’s weird.

“Wow, you two must have started out very young,” Pat’s brother said. Tim wasn’t entirely sure what his name was. “and your dad has to be incredible to teach you two so well.”

Damian frowned and busied himself with getting water.

“What forms of martial arts do you know?” Pat’s brother asked, “Clearly, it’s more than one. You shifted between them like experts.”

“Uh,” Tim said, thinking. He knew a lot. Like, a lot a lot. “Well, Tae Kwon Do, Judo, Jujitsu, Aikido, Karate, Escrima…” he trailed off when he noticed the dropped jaw of the instructors.

“Wow. Your dad must be-”

“Yes,” Damian interrupted irritably, “my father was amazing,” stressing the past tense of the sentence. After a second of hesitation, he grabbed his bag and stalked off toward the showers.

That shut the brother up rather quickly, as he seemed to remember that Damian didn’t live with his dad, but with his brother. Tim smiled at him apologetically while he gathered up his stuff to change and head home.

After they were both changed, Damian in his casual clothes and Tim back in his work clothes, they made to leave the studio. Tim noticed that Damian was not in a good mood, though, which sucked.

Their spar had been great, they should both enjoy a good mood from it, but of course Pat’s stupid brother had to go make Damian all depressed about not being around Bruce. He probably made the brat think about how he didn’t actually get to learn from Bruce.

“Hey,” Tim said, hoping to cheering the kid up, “what do you say we go pick up some takeout and have a movie night?”

“What?” Damian asked flatly. Tim frowned at that. Damian had shut down his emotions, hiding back underneath the blank expression he used to always use. He just wanted his little brother to come back.

“Yeah. You know, I saw a new animated DC movie it out at Redbox. We could rent that.”

Damian rolled his eyes and said, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“No, come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders, “I know you love watching anything and everything Batman related. We can rent it and get some awful Chinese takeout and watch it at home.”

“It’s Tuesday and we both have things to do in the morning,” he drawled.

“And since when has sleep ever been a thing either of us get enough of?” Tim pointed out.

“It is not necessary.”

Tim laughed and squeezed his shoulders a bit. “Of course not, but I want to. It is my birthday, after all.”

Damian smiled ever so slightly and leaned in toward Tim. “Very well, since it is your birthday, I shall indulge you.”

“Perfect.”

That night, after they’d stuffed themselves with takeout and watched a full movie and most of a second, Tim found himself struggling to stay awake. He had been pretty sure Damian was asleep, his body heavily leaning against Tim’s side. Despite the slight stiffness in his arm, he hadn’t the heart to jostle the brat and wake him up.

Then, as Tim was finally drifting off to sleep as the credits rolled, Damian said, “Tim?”

“Hmm?” he mumbled, not even opening his eyes.

Damian’s small, timid voice cut right through the grogginess and pulled Tim fully into consciousness. “You’re really happy here, aren’t you?”

Taking a moment to consider the question, Tim pulled his arm out from under the brat to wrap around him. “I like it here, yeah,” he conceded. He wouldn’t quite use the words ‘really happy,’ but he could admit he was happier than he’d been in years. Ever, maybe.

“If-” Damian began, then paused, “If Father were to find us today. Tomorrow. Would you return home?”

Tim wished Damian could see his expression, but alas it was far too dark, and he wasn’t lying in a position that let him look up. And maybe he didn’t want to look up, Tim didn’t know. If he could see, though, he’d see how shocked and offended Tim was by the question. He had dedicated himself to bringing them home. It was his current purpose in life.

“Of course I would. That’s our home, kiddo.” Then he hesitated. What if Damian wasn’t actually concerned about Tim’s answer, but was debating with himself? “Would you?”

Damian huffed what sounded like a relieved breath. “Yes. Without hesitation.”

“Okay,” Tim said, squeezing Damian in a quick hug, “Let’s both head to bed and get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Damian agreed, rising to his feet to make for his room.

“Night, kid,” Tim said as he stood up himself, stretching out the stiffness in his body, “Love you.”

“You too.”


	22. Bruce

It only took twelve hours for Jason to vacate the Manor. Another twenty-four before Dick left.

Bruce wasn’t surprised. He wouldn’t stick around the Manor if he could help it, but he couldn’t leave, either. That was where the cave was, and Gotham needed Batman.

Even if Batman was fucking useless and couldn’t save his own sons.

Sighing, Bruce pushed away from the Batcomputer. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, reviewing the footage from that night, but based on how stiff he was it had likely been many hours.

He looked over to the plate of sandwiches Alfred had left at some point and rubbed his face. He should eat. If he wanted to go out on patrol, he needed the calories.

Almost robotically, Bruce began chewing on the first sandwich he grabbed. It took a few bites for him to even register what kind it was. Avocado.

_“Drake are you eating my avocado sandwich?,” Damian shouted, “Pennyworth made that for me.”_

_“Huh?” the teen replied, “Oh. I thought it was cucumber.”_

_The child let out an enraged screech. “They taste nothing alike you imbecile.”_

_“Yeah, whatever. Here,” Tim said, dropping the half-eaten sandwich in Damian’s hands._

_“That is disgusting,” the boy yelled, tossing the sandwich at his older brother, creating a massive mess as the various ingredients fell to the floor._

_“Knock it off both of you,” Bruce snapped, “and clean that up.”_

_“Tt.”_

_“I didn’t do anything,” Tim whined._

Bruce yelled as he tossed his mug across the cave. It burst into half a dozen pieces and left coffee on the wall it hit.

He just stood, staring, at the shattered remains of it on the floor.

\----

Bruce picked up the ray gun and inspected the various buttons on the weapon. None of them were labeled, and Bruce did not want to press any of them, in case he’d change the settings from what the thug had them set to, even though he’d painstakingly recorded everything about its current settings.

He glanced at the crackers sitting on the desk and flicked one to the ground to aim the gun at.

Guns were never something he liked. Even before his parents were murdered with one. He just hated the entire idea of guns. Of weapons in general, really, but he knew the uses of them. He certainly knew how to shoot a gun.

So, Bruce aimed the gun at the cracker and slowly pulled the trigger.

Like before, the item was completely vaporized.

\----

Lucius burst into the office and said, “Bruce, go home.”

“I’m fine,” Bruce replied, not even bothering to look up from the report he was reviewing. With the annual board meeting happening that morning, Bruce couldn’t afford to just go home.

Usually the CEO attended, but. Well. Bruce could go. He could handle it.

“No one is expecting you-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted. Maybe if people quit reminding him, that’d be true, too.

Lucius sighed a long, drawn out sigh before approaching. “If you say so. Let’s get you caught up on the Peterman merger, then, because the board wants to know about it.” He moved some of the office supplies around on the desk to set down the folders in his hands. While doing so, Lucius knocked off a pen onto the floor.

_”Bruce,” Tim sighed for the fifth time, trying to expel his father from his office, “I’m really busy. Can it wait?”_

_“Alfred insists,” Bruce replied as he bent down to retrieve the pen he’d knocked onto the ground, “besides, we haven’t done a family portrait in years. I want one with all you boys in it.”_

_“Just have the artist make one up using individual pictures of us. Putting me and Damian in the same room is a recipe for disaster.”_

_“You boys can get along for one afternoon,” Bruce replied dryly._

_“No, we really can’t.”_

Bruce stared at the pen in his hands, trying to blink away the memory. He sat back up and tossed the pen on the desk, causing it to skip across the desk and smack into a picture frame sitting on the edge of the desk, nearly toppling it to the ground.

He sat there for a good five minutes, just staring at the image of Tim and Dick smiling at the camera.

\----

The vaporizer drew Bruce’s attention again. He shouldn’t keep torturing himself with the gun. Should stop messing with it. Every time Alfred came downstairs and saw Bruce analyzing the item, he gave one of his signature passive aggressive sighs before moving back up to the Manor.

Bruce couldn’t be bothered with it.

He didn’t know what, but there was something about the gun he hadn’t learned yet. He just knew it.

Taking notes by hand, Bruce wrote down everything he knew about the weapon. How it worked. Where the buttons were situated. What the gun did.

What the gun did.

Frowning, Bruce stared at the barrel of the gun. It vaporized things. But how? How did it vaporize only what it touched? Why didn’t it leave damage around it? Why no burn marks on the tables or ground? Why no charred smell?

Bruce flicked his pen to the ground and took aim once again, then shot the object.

No obvious evidence it had been vaporized, and yet, the energy beam registered as powerful enough _to_ vaporize an object, and the pen was no longer there.

\----

Patrol was Bruce’s only release. During patrol he was not someone everyone was walking eggshells around. Not the man of the missing boys. He was not Bruce Wayne, father of four. Three.

One?  

Two.

Batman was just Batman, and no one asked him how he was doing or reassured him everything would be okay. Batman was Batman, and Batman was angry.

Half past midnight, the Batsignal illuminated for the first time since the boys went missing. He had expected Gordon to call in Batman to help with the missing Wayne boys case, but at the same time Gordon probably already knew Batman was on the case. Bruce didn’t want to think too hard on what exactly Gordon knew about what.

“Commissioner,” Batman greeted briskly as he emerged from the shadow.

Gordon did well not to startle as he turned a tired expression toward Batman. The man nodded his greeting and said, “Batman. Oracle told me you solved your big case.”

If he weren’t wearing the cowl, Bruce would have raised an eyebrow at the comment. Gordon knew about Oracle. And spoke to her.

“Hrn,” Batman grunted in the affirmative.

_“Another one?” Jim asked once Robin emerged from the shadows for the first time in his presence._

_“I’ll explain later,” Bruce said tiredly. He had specifically told Damian to stay out of sight._

_After he had dumped Damian off at the cave for the night, after a very successful night tracking down an escaped Arkham Asylum inmate, Batman returned to the GCPD building to speak with Jim directly._

_He was aware the older man disliked Bruce’s collection of ‘child soldiers,’ so he figured he’d actually follow through on his promise._

_“He was a surprise to me, too,” Batman said flatly as he let himself in through the window of Gordon’s office._

_“Shit,” Gordon swore, jumping about six inches into the air and knocking his coffee over on the desk, “Jesus Christ, Batman. Do you have to do that?”_

_“I did not make him Robin, either,” Batman continued, as if nothing had happened._

_“Nightwing made him Robin,” Gordon said, mopping up the mess of coffee with a towel that had been discarded on a chair, “I had heard rumors that Batman had a new Robin, but of course I knew it was really the kid under the cowl.”_

_Bruce grunted an amused sound, impressed the man had put together that it was Dick filling in for him. Most everyone hadn’t even noticed the change, despite his and Dick’s difference in stature, fighting technique, and attitude._

_“He’s a lot different than the other boys you’ve had. The others were overly enthusiastic, and charmingly childish in their humor. This one is just angry.”_

_Batman frowned, not that anyone could tell the difference from the normal downward curve his lips held while in the cowl. “He’s not all angry, even though he has plenty of reasons to be. He’s a good kid and he’s trying.”_

“Did you have something for me, Commissioner?” Batman growled, shaking the memory away.

“Just wanted to give you this,” Jim said, holding out a folder, “it’s everything we’ve collected about the case. We’ll add what you discovered when you’re ready to share, but given the outcome…” the man trailed off.

Given the outcome, the GCPD would be dropping their investigation. Of course they would.

Batman nodded and tucked the folder away, ready to sift through the information later. He likely already had everything downloaded in the cave, anyway.

“Be careful out there, Batman,” Jim said, turning his back so Bruce could leave, “They wouldn’t want you getting hurt because of them.”

\----

Bruce tossed another batarang at the practice dummy across the cave floor. He wasn’t really training, just keeping his hands and mind occupied.

That stupid weapon was invading his thoughts again.

Another batarang hit its target in the dummy’s shoulder with a sharp twang. It was a strange sound for the object to make, but also comforting. The rhythmic swish and thud of the objects as they flew across the room helped fill in the deafening silence of the cave.

Having no one around to liven up the place was driving Bruce to madness. He had almost turned to playing music over the speakers, just to cover the silence.

Damian would have a conniption fit if he knew Bruce played music in the cave, after specifically telling the child such a thing was inappropriate and distracting.

Bruce tossed his last batarang and then stood to retrieve the dozen he’d tossed. While he stood next to the dummy, picking weapons out of it’s chest, he stared down at one that had already fallen to the floor.

Could the gun vaporize anything? Even dense metal? Rock?

Depositing the collected batarangs on his desk, Bruce retrieved the ray gun from where he’d been keeping it stored beside the computer. With no little children around, mainly Jason or Damian, he didn’t feel the need to keep it locked up and secure.

When he walked back over to the end of the cave, he quickly found a stray rock and once again pointed the weapon and pulled the trigger.

Like everything else, it disappeared. There weren’t even ashes left over.

\----

Sleeping was impossible.

He hadn’t slept well at all since _the incident._

Alfred had convinced him to lie in his bed a few times since, but only a few. Every other night he’d spent in the cave, in the den, or basically anywhere but his own bed.

Now, staring up at the ceiling, Bruce had nothing but his own thoughts to occupy him.

_”Tim,” Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I am not asking you again. Just drive him home. I’m not asking you to watch him very long. Just an hour.”_

_“Why can’t Alfred take him home?” Tim countered defiantly, “Or you? I don’t see why I have to do it.”_

_“I need to stick around for at least another hour, but possibly two or three, to mingle with the guests, and Alfred is busy with directing the caterers. It’s just an hour, and he’s already exhausted. He’ll probably fall asleep in the car. You’ll be fine.”_

_“I’m the CEO of this company, shouldn’t I stay here, as well?” Tim said, crossing his arms._

_“You’re also sixteen,” Bruce said tiredly, “and it’s midnight. No one will bat an eye at you ducking out, especially not if they see you with Damian.”_

_“The same could be said about _you._ Damian is _your_ son, and no one will think twice about you taking your ten-year-old home.”_

_“We aren’t arguing about this,” Bruce sighed, “just take him home and I’ll see you in the morning.”_

_“Why can’t he just sleep in the penthouse?” Tim whined, “That way I don’t have to place myself alone in a speeding metal deathtrap with the devil incarnate.”_

_“Timothy,” Bruce snapped, perhaps a bit too loudly for a conversation being held within earshot of party guests. Within earshot of Tim’s employees. “That is enough. I am tired of you back talking me. Take your brother home, _now_.”_

_“Hmph,” Tim huffed as he scowled at Bruce. After a second’s hesitation, the teen turned on his heels and stormed off to where Bruce last saw Damian dozing off at a table. He hoped they could get home without killing each other._

_Why couldn’t his two youngest just get along?”_

Now they never would get along, Bruce thought bitterly. They’d never get along because they were gone.

They were dead.

His last words to Timothy were said out of impatience. He couldn’t have wished his son a good night? Told him he loved him? Maybe he should have taken Damian home himself. Encouraged both of them to just sleep upstairs that night.

Bruce covered his eyes with his hands, trying to force the tears escaping back in. It was no use. The dam had finally burst, and there was no holding back.

He had two more sons to bury. And this time, with no bodies to speak of, there was no chance at a resurrection.

After an hour of silent weeping, sleep finally took him.

\----

Bruce woke with a start.

_Why weren’t there any ashes?_

How was that even possible? How could a ray gun be so powerful, produce so much energy, that it completely vaporized any object it shot and left _no trace?_

None at all.

How was that possible?

Bruce stumbled back down into the cave, haphazardly slipping on his robe and slippers as he went. He had a gun to analyze.

He needed to shoot something larger. So far they’d only shot small object. Things that wouldn’t produce much in the way of ash, anyway. Perhaps if he shot something larger. Something person sized, he could get a better idea what the gun did to his sons.

Taking aim at the first practice dummy he saw, Bruce pulled the trigger and watched in fascination as the dummy vaporized like everything else had.

Like Tim and Damian must have.

Except.

There was no damage. None anywhere. No burn marks. No ashes on the ground. No heat, even, to give away the fact that something had just been _vaporized._

Or….

Bruce narrowed his eyes down at the gun and stared at the buttons again. Why would it even need buttons? Did it have various stages of energy?  Did some of them not vaporize?

Looking around quickly for something else to shoot, Bruce zeroed in on an apple sitting next to the computer. Without a second thought, he took aim and fired once more.

And he watched as the apple… vanished.

There was no way this thing was vaporizing. It made no sense. The evidence didn’t match up.

But the apple was gone. It had vanished. Disappeared.

All the buttons. All the settings. The energy produced. The objects vanishing without trace…

Frantically, Bruce pulled out his cell phone and hit call.

“Dick,” Bruce said as soon as the line connected, panting as he wrestled with the realization, “They’re not dead. They’re in another dimension.”


	23. Three Years

In August, Tim took a couple weeks off work while he was on school break in hopes of doing some ‘field work’ for his multiverse project. He’d recorded several more openings of the portal, all small object sized, in the vicinity of the Batcave and was hoping to investigate what was being sent through.

Damian, ever eager to get out and explore between productions, jumped on the opportunity to accompany Tim.

That’s how the boys found themselves trespassing on private property in search of natural cave openings. Without the landmarks of Bristol, they were having a difficult time locating one. Tim had almost forgotten that half the entrances they used on a regular basis were man-made.

“Didn’t Father fall through when he was a child,” Damian complained during their third hour of exploring, “if he could fall through on accident why can’t we get down there on purpose?”

“Maybe the caves don’t even exist in this universe,” Tim said as he pulled up the map they were using on his iPad.

“Everything else about the terrain has been the same, why would these caves be different?”

Tim shrugged. “No idea, just a theory. Maybe our caves were created by something humans did at some point in our history that this world didn’t do.”

“The caves were not manmade,” Damian drawled from the ground as Tim climbed a tree. They had wandered into a bit of a clearing, so Tim hoped to get a better view of the landscape and maybe see an opening. 

“Okay,” Tim said defensively, testing the strength of the branch above him, “You’re the expert in geology.”

Damian huffed a quiet laugh and said, “Damn straight.”

“Stop cussing,” Tim said, poking his head around the trunk to look at the teen, “You’re, like, ten.”

“I am thirteen and go to hell.”

Tim grinned to himself and hoisted his weight to his feet so he was standing on the highest branch that would support his full weight. He pushed another branch out of his view so he could look out over the landscape and saw… absolutely nothing helpful.

At least climbing the tree was fun.

“Would you be careful?” Damian snapped as Tim jumped off the branch and caught it with his hands, quickly descending to the ground.

“I was being careful.”

“You went entirely too high,” he admonished, tossing Tim’s backpack back at him once he reached the ground, “You should have let me climb the tree.”

“Um. No. I’m pretty sure you’re heavier than me, so how would that have helped anything?”

“Huh,” Damian said after looking down at himself and over at Tim, “Interesting. Did you see anything?”

“Shut up, and no. Let’s just keep wandering around and hope we fall in.”

“Very efficient use of our time.” Damian held his hand out, demanding the iPad from Tim, who simply complained about brats and handed it over.

“Okay,” the little twerp said, zooming out on the map, “So the bridge is here, then we travel approximately…” he trailed off, floating his finger above the map as he traced what he thought was their exact route to the manor from the bridge, “which that would mean we need to travel about half a mile to the west to find the entrance.”

“Fine,” Tim huffed, “take the lead Mr. expert-in-everything.”

“It is not my fault you don't possess the basic skill of reading a map.”

“I do too,” Tim exclaimed, “my readings led us to this exact area.”

“Tt. Keep telling yourself that.”

“I hate you,” Tim mumbled as they made their way to the cave entrance.

And, of course, because of course the stupid little brat would be able to replicate the exact map of Bristol by memory, three years later, they found the cave entrance right where he said it’d be.

“Drop the smug smile you little shit,” Tim grumbled as he pushed some vegetation out of the way of the entrance.

“You aren’t even looking at me,” Damian complained, clicking on his headlamp.

“I can hear it. Okay,” Tim said, putting his own headlamp on, “Let’s go see what the Batcave looked like before Bruce put a dinosaur in it.”

It took an hour of exploring to finally reach the massive cavern they called the Batcave.

They knew they had arrived in the right spot because there was a practice dummy. Just sitting there. Right in the middle of the cave.

“This is so awesome,” Damian said as he approached the dummy, “Do you think Father is in the cave right now?”

Tim looked around the cave, trying to picture how it looked in their world. Bruce really did a lot of work to the interior. Lights being the most obvious improvement. “That’s actually a really cool thought.”

“I wonder what they’re doing. Has our disappearance fallen to the backburner? What does the rest of the Justice League think? Has Father asked for help yet?”

“As much of an asshole Bruce can be, he’s not stubborn enough to refuse help for three years when it involves bringing his son home,” Tim said as he started pulling lanterns out of his bag to set up.

“Son _s_ ,” Damian said, emphasizing the plural.

“Yeah, yeah. Set up your lights, kiddo. Let’s get to work.”

The boys spent the afternoon documenting the cave. Taking pictures and drawing diagrams. Exploring every inch of the cavern for the objects sent. Four of the seven objects sent through, by Tim’s estimates, were found. Those objects included a pen, a coffee mug, a batarang, and the practice dummy.

“This is _my_ mug,” Tim snarled when they found the mug, shattered into three pieces on the ground, where it likely fell to the floor after being teleported.

“Was,” Damian corrected.

“It was my favorite one,” he exclaimed, “how dare they test a weapon on it.”

“How many times did Pennyworth tell you not to leave your mug lying around,” Damian said, grinning as he twirled the batarang.

“That is so not the point.”

“So, what have we learned?” Damian asked just as he threw the batarang at the dummy, hitting where the heart would be.

Tim wanted to make a crack about Damian being lethal, but thought better about it at the last second, and instead said, “They hate me and took it out on an innocent mug, and they like to randomly test the gun. Perhaps they are studying it to determine where it’s sending things. They haven’t been successful thus far, obviously, because they aren’t here.”

“I wish they had sent a note or something.”

“Too high a chance a civilian would intercept it. They have no way of knowing what conditions we are in. For all they know we are being held prisoner or are dead. They don’t actually know.”

“ _We_ don’t know what they know,” Damian pointed out, “We’re just as much in the dark.”

“I suppose. Maybe we should leave them a note? There is probably a good chance they’ll teleport themselves here when they do finally come to our universe, so maybe they’ll find the note?”

“We could attach it to the dummy,” Damian said as he pulled the batarang out, “It would be hard to miss that way.”

“Yes. And just in case we should write it in such a way that a civilian won’t understand the message.”

Damian nodded and sat down with his sketchbook and a pen, “Okay. ‘Dear B & N,’ Damian orated as he wrote, ‘We are safe and living in NYC under the German version of our name. T can be easily contacted through the company for which he works. We are wearing our watches. Signed, D & T.’ What do you think?”

“Hmm,” Tim said, mulling over the wording, “Don’t say NYC. Say the city in which J impersonated N.”

“Really? You think a civilian will read NYC and suddenly connect it to Tim and Damian Wagner.”

“German name, first name starts with T, works for a company and likely has a biography on the website. Someone with a couple hours on their hands could narrow it down to us, yes.”

“Fine. But literally no one is going to do that,” Damian complained as he flipped the page and rewrote the message.

“Put today’s date on there, too,” Tim said just before Damian ripped the page out of his book.

When he was done, Damian folded it in half and pinned it to the dummy, writing ‘B & N’ on the outside of the note.

“All right. Let’s pack up. You bringing that batarang?”

“Yes,” Damian said, tucking the object in his pocket, “and the pen.”

“Of course,” Tim said, rolling his eyes, “I’m bringing my mug, too. I intend on raising hell once we get back over this.”

“Tt. You’re ridiculous.”

“It was a perfect mug. I bet Bruce did it because it has Superman’s shield on it.”

“Father has a superman t-shirt,” Damian said as they started their trek out of the cave.

“You’re kidding me.” Tim grinned at the accusation. _That_ was some good blackmail material right there.

“Nope. I saw it myself.”

“What were you doing? Snooping through his closet?”

“Yep,” the brat said, not even a little ashamed about it.

Tim turned to shoot Damian an incredulous look, but got scowled at when his headlamp blinded Damian. “Sorry. You don’t snoop through my stuff, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Damian said a bit too quickly, “Like you have anything interesting to look at.”

“Rude.”

\----

“What the heck is that?” Kyla said when she saw the batarang sitting in front of Damian on the kitchen island.

Tim shot Damian a withering glare as Kyla picked it up to look at closer. The teen had taken to carrying that damn thing everywhere as if it were a security blanket. Heh. Damian and his blankie.

“A knife?” she asked, touching the blade of it carefully, “but it looks like a bat.”

“It’s a batarang,” Jordan said, looking over at it from the couch before turning back to the book he was reading. Jordan had already seen the batarang. They took it to the park and threw it at a tree a few times for fun not long after returning from their cave expedition, because of course a massive comic book nerd like Jordan would want to see and play with a real batarang. He had even brought some of his fake ones to compare.

“A what?” she said, handing it back to Damian, “what the hell is a bat-a-rang. Like a boomerang shaped like a bat? How the hell does that even work?”

“It’s one of Batman’s weapons,” Damian supplied, tucking it into his bag under the counter.

“You don’t bring that to school, do you? You could get in so much trouble,” she admonished, then added a bit happier, “also you’re a nerd.”

“Would you hang out with us if we weren’t nerds?” Tim asked as he scrolled through his Facebook feed, completely bored. He’d have to make dinner soon.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Timmy,” she teased, “I’m only here for the free food.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t bring me food all the time at the lab.” Tim got up and looked in the fridge to start deciding on what to make.

Kyla scoffed, “If I didn’t bring you food, you’d starve to death. You have zero self-preservation.”

“What does that even mean?” he said, pulling out a variety of vegetables to make a stir fry, “Zero self-preservation.”

“It means you don’t take care of yourself.”

“She may have a point,” Damian said without even looking up from his homework.

“You guys see him cooking right now, right?” Jordan said in Tim’s defense, “It’s not just me? He’s cooking, right?”

“Thank you, Jor,” Tim said.

“All I see is him pulling a bunch of green stuff out of plastic bags,” Kyla said.

Tim threw a piece of broccoli at the girl and said, “Go to hell, Kyla.”

Kyla ate the broccoli and grinned at Tim. “Only if you come with me.”

“I hadn’t washed that yet,” Tim said, cringing at the girl, “so you’re probably on your way now.”

“Please. Like a piece of broccoli’s gonna kill me.”

“Ask the passengers of the Titanic how challenging statements like that go over,” Jordan quipped.

“Too soon,” Kyla said, clutching her chest in mock horror.

“Oh, Tim,” Damian said, interrupting the conversation, “I have my list of high schools to apply for now.”

“No way,” Kyla said, snatching the sheet from Damian’s hands, “Okay. Stuy is a great school, definitely put that in your top five. I think it’s twelve you can apply to for round one. What was your placement score? Oh, Staten Island? Wow these schools are all over the city. You really want to travel to Queens or Brooklyn for school? I see a lot of good schools on this list.”

“Do you ever breathe,” Damian asked, taking the paper back, “I don’t know my score, it won’t be sent until the spring, but I scored perfect on the practice exam. This _is_ my list of twelve schools as well as all the gifted schools, not a random list, and if it’s for a good school, _yes_ I will travel off Manhattan to attend. I was getting the list out for Tim, not you.”

“Okay, I call bullshit on the ‘perfect score,’ and-” Kyla began, just to have Tim cut her off with a look.

“Like I told you,” Tim said as he began chopping up the veggies, “it’s your choice where you go.”

“It wasn’t my choice where I went for middle school,” Damian shot back.

“And whose fault was that?”

Damian and Tim stared at each other for a good minute, wordlessly arguing despite their guests.

“You two are so cute.”

“Shut it,” Damian snapped, then turned back to Tim. “Very well. Staten Island is my first choice.”

“If you want to travel across the bay every day for school, be my guest. Remember, it will add two hours to your school day, though, and that will affect your extracurriculars.”

“Yes, I know. I won’t get involved in so many clubs this time,” the brat assured.

“You don’t want to attend my school?” Jordan said, finally joining them at the island to watch Tim cook.

“I specifically crossed the school you teach at off my list.”

“Of course you did, because you’re a little brat.”

“Be thankful, Jordan,” Tim laughed, “He’d probably make it his mission to make you cry in class if he had you as a teacher.”

That caused Damian to grin deviously as he took a pen to his list, “You teach in Queens, correct?”

“Oh, no. No way. Go to one of your nerd schools and leave my school alone.”

“Too late, you’re doomed,” Tim said, heating up some leftover rice to go with the stir fry, “I can’t wait to hear all the stories from both of you.”

\----

In December, Damian was in a production of _Elf_ , in which he was playing Michael Hobbs. The more plays he was getting under his belt, the better the roles he was receiving. Tim knew it was just a matter of time before he got a lead, but Damian seemed pretty happy with what he was getting thus far. He had apparently actually auditioned for the part of Michael, not even trying for a more demanding role.

As usual, Kyla attended with him, excited as ever to see Damian dance around on stage and sing. She thought it was amusing to watch angry little Damian turn into a happy chatty little boy up on stage. If only she had known Damian when he was ten, she wouldn’t classify him as an angry little child anymore.

The one thing Tim was not expecting was to run into Paul Blackwell and his daughter, Molly, at the performance.

“Tim! Great to see you here,” Paul greeted when he spotted Tim from across the auditorium. He and Molly made their way down the aisle to sit next to Tim and Kyla, Molly looking at them curiously.

“Hey Paul, Molly. This is Kyla,” he said, turning to the girl, “Kyla, this is my boss and his daughter. She’s one of Damian’s friends.”

Molly took a seat on the other side of Paul and asked, “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No,” Tim replied easily, “just a friend.”

“Timmy,” Kyla exclaimed in mocked distraught, “Stop denying our love.”

“Oh my god, Kyla,” Tim groaned. It was fine to say shit like that to their friends, in front of Damian, but not in front of Paul, who would never let it go, "They'll actually believe you, you know."

Kyla sniffed and pursed her lips into a pout, “You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?”

Tim just glared at her and said, “Are you done?”

The girl leaned forward around the two men and spoke to Molly, pretending to share a secret with her, despite speaking loudly. “Boys, am I right? So easy to embarrass.”

Molly grinned and nodded. “Damian said she was your girlfriend.”

“Is that so?” Paul asked, clearly amused.

“Damian is a pathological liar,” Tim quipped, rolling his eyes at the girls’ antics.

“Possible,” Molly admitted, “he does claim he could wield a sword before he could talk.”

“He actually _told_ you that?” Tim asked, slightly taken aback by the teen’s honesty with his friends. How does something like that even come up in conversation?

“Yeah, after one of his fencing matches,” she explained, “wait, is it true?”

Tim just shrugged, “Yeah, his grandpa was super into swords.”

“Whoa, that’s so cool,” she said, just as the lights went down for the show.

“I suppose,” Tim said. If ignoring the whole abusive ninja death cult part of the story, it was pretty cool.

\----

“Tim,” Damian shouted as he ran into the lab, heedless of the presence of another student.

“Shh,” Tim admonished, after receiving a glare from said student, “Inside voice, kiddo.”

“Sorry,” Damian said quickly, then said much quieter, “Tim, guess what?”

“What?”

“I got in,” he chattered, nearly bouncing with excitement as he presented Tim with an opened letter.

“To?” he questioned as he accepted the letter and unfolded it.

“All the schools for which I applied, but that doesn’t matter,” he said, pointing at the first sentence of the note, “I got into Staten Island.”

“Congratulations, bud,” Tim said, ruffling the brat’s hair, “Did you ever doubt you would?”

“Of course not, but with tens of thousands of students applying for the school, I wasn’t entirely sure.”

“Well I didn’t doubt you for a second.” Tim folded the letter back up and handed it to Damian. “Ice cream?”

“Thanks, and yes,” the teen said, nodding, “I believe this does call for ice cream.”

“Great, give me five minutes to wrap this up and we’ll go.”

 

“So,” Tim asked while they ate their ice cream, “What’s got you so excited about this school?”

“I can take a robotics course next year,” he responded simply.

Tim raised in eyebrow, “New interest? Or old?”

Damian shrugged, “Both. Just seemed fun. If I’m going to be trapped in class, it might as well be a fun class. Also, I can receive college credit starting fairly quickly in my high school career.” He paused to take another bite of ice cream, then added, “Oh, and Frank got in as well.”

That made Tim grin, “Frank as in your best friend Frank?”

“No,” he deadpanned, “I’m talking about another random kid named Frank.”

“You guys should commute together. He lives a few blocks north, right?”

“Yep,” Damian said, waving a hand, as if dismissing Tim’s suggestion, “And duh. We’d likely end up on the same bus, anyway. Might as well just get on it together.”

Tim smiled at the brat and sat back in his seat, throwing his feet up on the empty seat next to Damian. “You know,” he said, looking down at his frozen treat, “I’m really proud of you. Probably don’t say that enough.”

“Why?” Damian questioned, clearly both amused and startled by the sudden admission, “Because I have a friend?”

“For everything. Everything about you.”

That made Damian smile.

\----

Ever since Jordan started teaching high school, he quit coming over to Tim’s as often. He had moved to Queens so he wouldn’t have to commute very far, and as a result, stopped spending so much time in Manhattan. In fact, the only time he came out to Manhattan was to visit Tim and Kyla.

It kind of sucked, not having Jordan around as much. Tim missed having another person he could be himself around.

Kyla still came over. A lot.

Actually, she was over a couple times a week. It was kind of funny. The girl started law school and somehow gained free time.

Tim was not sure how that worked.

One Saturday night, Damian, Kyla, and Tim were all watching _The Greatest Showman_ , at Damian’s request, obviously. Tim wasn’t a big fan, but Kyla and the brat were loving it, so he didn’t really mind.

Damian was sitting on one side of the couch, cross legged and sketching while mostly only listening to the movie. Whenever a song came on, he and Kyla sang along, because of course they both had the soundtrack memorized to a movie Tim had never heard of before Kyla brought over a copy.

Listening to the two of them sing along, half the time trying to sound horrible just to annoy each other, Tim sank down into the couch and closed his eyes. It was nice. Relaxing. He was enjoying himself.

“Hey,” Kyla said, scooting over to sit next to Tim, “No sleeping. You have to watch the whole thing.”

“You’re the one always hounding me about not sleeping enough,” Tim mumbled, even as he opened his eyes to look at Kyla.

“Yes,” she said, collapsing against his arm, “at night. This isn’t night. This is movie time. Watch the damn movie, Wagner.”

Tim laughed and shifted a bit so he was more comfortable and put his arm behind her, “Yes, ma’am.”

Then he noticed. Kyla was really close. She had never shown respect for personal space, but this. This was really close. She was curled up, wrapped in a blanket, and using Tim as a pillow, basically.

And then Tim realized he was staring.

He blinked and looked back at the screen. What was wrong with him? She leaned against him all the time. This time was no different.

But Tim kind of liked it.

\----

“So why are you obsessed with the multiverse,” Kyla asked through a mouthful of pasta one day at the lab, “what made you pick this as the topic?”

“I like challenges,” Tim said as he continued recording the latest results of his scans. Two more portals had opened in the cave, but neither were large enough to be people. Every time a new one opened, he was getting better readings. He hoped that soon he’d be able to build a device to create the same conditions, creating his own portal.

Maybe Damian could help with that.

Kyla snorted, “You’re a workaholic is what you are.”

“Is that a problem?” Tim asked sweetly, stealing a breadstick from the table.

“As long as you still invite me over for dinner, no.”

“I haven’t invited you in a year,” Tim pointed out, “You just appear.”

“Yet you always buzz me in,” she said, grinning now.

Tim shrugged. “How’s school going?”

“Great,” she exclaimed, obviously excited to chatter on about her school. She rambled for a good five minutes about the internship she’d been given for that summer and about how much she loved her constitutional law classes. Apparently, studying Supreme Court cases was her absolute favorite thing.

Tim sat back and listened while he ate the pasta she’d brought for him. Chicken parmesan. Delicious.

“You know, we could be like _Friends,_ ” Kyla said randomly a while later.

“We are friends,” Tim replied.

“No, like the show,” she exasperated, “Or, actually. Like _The Big Bang Theory_ , which, if you think about it, is like _Friends,_ but with nerds.”

“I’ve never seen either of those shows.”

“What,” she shouted, “Okay. I have both on DVD. Be prepared, this weekend we are binging. Actually, it’ll take several weekends. Yeah. Every Saturday for the foreseeable future, we are binging.”

“Kyla,” Tim said flatly.

“Too late, it’s happening. You can’t not have seen my favorite shows. Anyway, our little friend group is like the groups on those shows. Jordan is a teacher, so is Ross. You’re a physicist, Ross is also a scientist.  Okay, you can't both be Ross.  Um, I’m going to be a lawyer. There isn’t one of those, actually, but Chandler is a business man, and if we go with the Big Bang Theory-”

“Kyla.”

“And Damian is an actor,” she said to finish.

“You include Damian in our friend group?” Tim asked curiously. He always thought Jordan and Kyla saw him as the annoying little brother.

“We'd need a fifth person for this analogy to work, and of course he’s part of the group,” she said, rolling her eyes, “he’s pretty awesome and always around anyway.”

“Interesting.”

“Don’t worry though, you’re my favorite.”

That caused Tim to fluster a bit. She didn’t know what it meant between Tim and Damian. Of course she didn’t, but he and Damian said it so often the phrase automatically translated in his head.

But, if Tim had to pick a favorite of his friends… he might choose Kyla, too. Maybe that was just because of how busy Jordan had become, but he found he preferred her company. She was a good distraction from his own thoughts. Her incessant chatter was usually entertaining, and her observations about everything were amusing to hear.  

In fact, he had downloaded snapchat specifically so he could get her snaps of ridiculous comments she had about everything about her day. And even if he didn’t snap back, he opened every one.

So yes, maybe Kyla had become one of his closest friends.

And.

And Tim was lying to her. She knew nothing about him. Nothing. Not his age. Not his name. Not where he was from. Nothing.

How could he even call himself a friend?

“You okay?” Kyla asked, raising an eyebrow at Tim, “You’ve gone pale.”

“What?” Tim said, snapping out of his thoughts, “Oh, I’m fine. Just realized I left my iPad plugged in at home. Bad for the battery.”

“Right, I’ll pretend you aren’t lying right now. Anyway, it’s like 9 so I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, forcing a smile, “See you. Thanks for the Olive Garden.”

“Course, Timmy,” she said with a bright smile as she left.

When Tim got home himself about an hour later, he found Damian sitting at the counter doing homework. “Homework this late?” he asked, putting his stuff away.

“Working ahead,” Damian explained with a shrug, “I was bored.”

“Ah,” Tim said, running a hand through his hair, “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“If the question is ‘why are you a freak,’ the answer is no.”

“No, it’s not. Um,” he began, then stopped and took a seat next to Damian.

“Okay, what’s going on?” the brat said, shutting his book.

“Do- Do you ever feel bad for lying to your friends? About who you are?”

Damian narrowed his eyes at Tim, who chose to stare at his hands. “I have not lied about who I am,” the teen said slowly, “I may not have shared every detail of my life with my friends, but who I am has not changed just because my name did.”

“But Kyla thinks I’m from Philadelphia,” Tim explained, “That my family is dead. That I’m 21. That-”

“Is that all you are?” Damian interrupted, “A 19-year-old from Gotham?”

“What?”

“Is that how you define yourself?” he elaborated, “Is that all you are, Tim? Because I would disagree. All those little pieces are basic facts, none are important details. You have not put forth a false front with her, you have always been yourself. The essence of your character is _not_ a 19-year-old from Gotham, so it does not matter whether she knows that.”

“It’s still a pretty big lie,” Tim sighed, flexing his hands out on the counter.

“Well,” Damian laughed, “she’s never believed you about your age, and where you’re from doesn’t matter.”

“She doesn’t even know my _name,_ ” Tim protested.

“Is that all you are?” Damian demanded, “A Drake? A Wayne? Does your name really _matter?_ ”

“Okay, did that just come out of your mouth?  Yours?  The son of Batman himself?”

Damian rolled his eyes at the jab and said, “Fine, then are you saying that it’s wrong to lie to our friends about our pasts?” When Tim nodded, Damian continued, “So you are suggesting I tell all my friends that I have murdered people.”

“What?” Tim said, startled, “No, no of course not.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Damian prodded.

“Because, that’s not who you are anymore,” Tim said hastily. Damian telling his friends he’d murdered people would actually cause so many problems. So many.

Damian nodded in agreement and said, “Right, because my past doesn’t define me. Who I am is defined by what I do now, in the moment, not what I’ve done in the past. Who you are isn’t defined by your name, or your age, or where you’re from. It’s about who you are right now, how you behave, how you treat your friends. You haven’t put forth a false front, so I don’t see why she needs to be privy to your past.”

“But it feels so wrong,” Tim muttered, looking away.

“Friends don’t need to know every little detail about our lives, Tim. Unless you implying you wish to be more than friends with her?”

“What?” Tim blurted, “No. I mean, I don’t know. No, definitely no because that would be a horrible idea. We’re leaving. I don’t know when, but we’re probably past the half way mark, right? We’re leaving at any moment and I can’t. It would be wrong. I-”

Tim paused his ramble when Damian smirked at him. “What?” Tim demanded.

“Do you remember what you told me?” the brat asked.

“When? I say a lot of shit to you.”

“When we first settled down here. You said ‘life happens no matter where we are, don’t go through life unhappy because you’re being stubborn.’”

“Pretty sure I didn’t say that,” Tim mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Damian just shrugged, “So that’s what I took away. Will Kyla make you happy?”

Tim didn’t know. That was such a loaded question. He didn’t even know what he _wanted_. Maybe he just wanted to be friends with her. Actually, he really liked being friends with her, and the idea of speaking freely with her was rather exciting. Instead of answering, he shrugged.

“Then why hold yourself back?” Damian inquired, “Being happy should be your top priority in life. Not whether I’m happy, not work, not school, not your research, but your mental health.”

“But we’re going home,” Tim said weakly.

“Yes,” Damian agreed.

“How would-”

“Timothy,” Damian interrupted, “let’s cross that bridge when we get there. For now, stop wasting away your teens because you aren’t fully satisfied with where life has thrown you.”

“God,” Tim said, turning toward his brother, “when did you grow up?”

Damian grinned and said, “I have been telling you for years I am not a child.”

Tim stood and enveloped the brat in a hug. “Oh, you're the best, kid.”

Damian didn’t say anything back, but he did stand to return the hug.

And Damn. Damian was nearly as tall as him.

“When did you catch up to me in height?” Tim asked, pushing Damian back to get a good look at him. Yep. They were eye level. What the heck?

Damian let out a laugh and sat back down, “You really just now noticing?”

“What the _heck,_ ” Tim whined, “you’re fourteen. This isn’t fair. Everyone is always taller than me.”

“You might have another inch in you, never know,” Damian teased.

“Shut up, you’ll probably grow another six. I hate you.”

“You have met my parents, correct?” Damian said with a shit-eating grin, “Both are tall. I do not see why you are surprised.”

“Because you were a _short_ ten-year-old.”

“And you’re a short 19-year-old,” Damian pointed out.

“You suck.”

“But at least I’ll be taller,” Damian sang as he flipped through his notebook.

“Ugh. You’ll always be younger, though. So at least I got that going for me.”

“Whatever you say, Tim.”

Tim smiled and sat down across from Damian, who opened his book back up and continued with his math homework.  He definitely wasn't unhappy with where life had thrown him.  


	24. Four Years

Tim loved summer.

Neither he nor Damian had much going on in the summer outside normal work hours, which meant they had a lot of time to simply enjoy themselves. They ate dinner together nearly every night. They always got their morning run in. And, Tim’s favorite, they always got all day Sunday together.

By tradition, not rule, every Sunday was kept clear of obligations. Usually, the boys spent the day out, doing something fun together. More often than not, Tim found himself in the audience of a Broadway play, because of course he did. But other weeks they’d go to a museum, art gallery, or just walk around the city and find a new place to eat. Whatever they did, though, they always had fun.

“You know there’s a Harry Potter show right?” Damian asked from where he was lying upside down on the couch while the two of them mulled over what they could do that day.

Tim tapped next on the ‘things to do’ article he was reading and responded, “Yep. Also know it’s super expensive and always sold out. We aren’t seeing it.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we go,” Damian pouted, “just pointing out it exists. You like _Harry Potter_ , don’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m perfectly content with watching the movies and reading the books. I really don’t need to see the characters dancing around on stage.”

Damian sighed and said, “I don’t understand your ability to watch the same movie over and over. Grayson was the same way. I understand movie musicals, because at least you have the music to entertain, but regular films?”

“Have you ever even seen _Harry Potter?_ Because it doesn’t sound like you have.”

When the brat simply shrugged, Tim looked over at him in horror. “You haven’t?” he shouted, “Oh my god we have to rectify this. Right now.”

“Tim,” Damian whined, “I’d rather go to the Met.”

“You know how many times we’ve been to the Met?” Tim asked, “We’re watching Harry Potter. Have you at least read the books?”

“I attempted to read them, but it was difficult to get past the terrible writing of the first installment. No matter how many times I was told ‘it gets better,’ I could not get through the first book.”

At that, Tim dropped his tablet into his lab and stared at the child. “Okay,” he said slowly, “Okay. Right. Yeah. Get out of my house.”

“Timothy,” the brat drawled, rolling his eyes, “just start the first film.”

Nodding, he got up and started digging through the DVD cases they kept stored in a drawer next to the TV until he found the collection of Harry Potter movies. “Pop some popcorn, brat, we’ve got eight movies to watch.”

\----

“You know,” Tim said over ice cream the next Saturday afternoon, “Damian had never seen _Harry Potter_ until we watched it last week?”

“Seriously?” Kyla said from across the table, “What kind of guardian are you? Next you’ll tell me he’s never seen _The Land Before Time_ , either.”

Jordan let out a laugh and said, “He’s a bit young for that one, isn’t he Kyla?”

“I’ve never even seen that,” Tim mumbled, before adding louder, “And I fixed it! We watched the first six on Sunday and the other two on Monday.”

“You haven’t seen _The Land Before Time_?” Kyla said flatly, “Oh my god. You poor thing. What even was your childhood?”

“It was-” Tim began, just to be cut off by Jordan.

“Oh, give him a break, Ky, I mean he is from ‘ _Pennsylvania_.’”

The girl burst out in laughter and Tim just sank down in his seat a bit more, “What does that have to do with anything?”

Instead of answering, Kyla’s face sobered up for just a second before she went into a fit of laughter again.

“Anyway,” Tim said, sitting back up in his seat, “My point _was_ , there’s a lot of things Damian’s never done that I want to fix. Can you guys think of stuff 14-year-old kids have to do?”

“Honestly, Tim, you two do some pretty normal stuff,” Jordan said, shrugging, “I can’t think of anything you haven’t already done with the kid.”

“You take him to Luna Park yet?” Kyla asked.

“Yeah, we went last summer. He liked the Thunderbolt.”

“Six Flags,” Jordan said suddenly, excitedly, “Let’s all go to Six Flags. If I drive its only about an hour away.”

“Yes,” Kyla squealed, “I haven’t been there since I was a kid. Oh, let’s do it tomorrow!”

“I don’t know. Jordan driving? I mean, he is a New Yorker.”

“Shut up, Wagner, I’ll have you know I’ve never even been pulled over.”

Tim snorted a laugh and said, “That’s because you never drive, dumbass.”

“Yes, Six Flags tomorrow,” Kyla said, completely ignoring the two boys, “Tim, say yes.”

With a dramatic sigh, Tim said, “Fine. Six Flags tomorrow.”

“Yes!” she shouted.

“You’ll love it, Tim,” Jordan said with an evil grin, “There’s a Batman ride.”

“Oh my god,” Tim groaned.

\----

“I don’t understand why we have to go,” Damian pouted while he helped Tim find their sunscreen.

Tim huffed and dumped out a bag they’d never unpacked from their last hiking trip a few weeks before, “It’ll be fun. Why are you even whining about it? Seriously, what kid whines about roller coasters?”

“I am not whining,” Damian insisted, “I do not _whine._ ”

“You’re whining. What’s the problem, anyway?” Tim frustratedly repacked the bag and moved on to the everything drawer.

“Why must we go with them?” he asked, nearly snarling out the ‘them.’

Finally, Tim found the sunscreen, tucked up under the sink. “Ah ha!,” he announced, then turned to Damian, “I thought you liked my friends.”

“I like them fine, I just don’t want to spend today with them.”

“Why not?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Never mind,” the kid murmured, as he began putting his shoes on.

“We’re going to have fun,” Tim reiterated.

“Sure.”

In the car, Damian stared out the window the entire way. His mood was so noticeable, Kyla texted Tim half way through asking ‘what was wrong with the twerp.’ In response, Tim just sent the shrugging emoji with the single word ‘teenager.’

Thankfully, once they got into the park and started riding rides, the brat’s smile came back and he did, in fact, enjoy himself.

Tim’s favorite moment was when they rode the Kingda Ka, for the first time, that is. The coaster was one of those that starts off fast. The second the coaster launched, Damian started giggling. Tim did, too, but he’d never admit it. Only children giggle.

The kid didn’t stop laughing until the ride was over, then said in the happiest voice ever, “Let’s do that one again.”

“No,” Kyla screamed from the row behind them, “Absolutely not. I’m not doing that again.”

“Yeah,” Jordan cheered, “again!”

“Oh my god, I hate you all. I’m going to get a funnel cake and wait.”

Once they were all allowed off the coaster, they reentered the line, with Kyla splitting off as promised to get a snack.

“She said she liked coasters,” Jordan said once the girl was out of earshot.

Damian laughed, “She’s a coward.”

“Hey,” Tim said, “at least she rode it once. And in her defense, it was a pretty intense ride.”

“Almost as fun as free falling off a building,” Damian observed.

Tim nodded in agreement and Jordan said, “I don’t know how you two can do that. I’d shit myself for sure. Then go splat on the ground. I mean, you have to shoot your grapple up and hit a secure spot. It’s not like you’re Spiderman and can just aim anywhere on the building, you have to find a specific spot. How do you not die?”

With a shrug, Damian explained, “Practice.”

“How the fuck do you practice that?”

“Well, you start by training in the cave. Then you start from lower heights, shooting your grapple first then jumping. Eventually you work your way up to higher jump off points and shooting midair.” Tim shrugged. “I dunno, man. Practice.”

Jordan shook his head, amused. “You guys are crazy.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tim agreed.

The ride home wasn’t any louder than the ride to the park had been. This time, though, it was not because Damian’s pouting put a damper on the mood of the car. It was because the munchkin had fallen asleep and no one wanted to disturb him.

“Rise and shine,” Tim said, poking at Damian after Jordan pulled over in front of their building, “Come on. Get up and out before Jordan gets a ticket.”

Damian groaned and got out. As Tim slid across the seat to slip out after him, he said to his friends, “Thanks for the day guys. See ya later.”

“Bye Timmy!” Kyla shouted out the window, “And Dami.”

“Later,” Jordan said as he pulled back out into traffic.

“See, today was fun,” Tim told Damian as he wrapped an arm around the sleepy teen.

“I suppose,” he said, rubbing at an eye, “but next Sunday let’s go to the Met without the interlopers.”

Tim was silent for a moment until he finally said, “Sure thing, buddy. It’ll be just me and you.”

"Good. That's how Sunday should be."

\----

“You got everything you need?” Tim asked the evening before school started for Damian.

The school had assigned summer homework for the incoming freshmen, so he and Damian had to visit a museum while Damian filled out a worksheet, sketched objects, and took pictures of himself and the exhibit for his history class. In addition to all that, he also had to read a book for English and write up his thoughts about it in the margins of the book.

It was weird, but, whatever. Damian had chosen one of the nerd schools.

“Yes, Timothy,” Damian said tersely as he zipped up his bag. Great. The kid was in _another_ mood. They had been all too common recently.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop nagging.”

“Thank you.”

Tim watched with a frown as the kid put his bag against the wall and then threw himself down on the couch. He was never really sure what to do whenever the kid got into one of his moods, so he solved it the same way Dick always did. By asking.

“Hey, you okay?”

Damian looked up from his phone and said, “Yeah, I’m fine”

Taking a seat next to the teen, Tim said, “You look kind of sad.”

After a moment, Damian shrugged. “I just miss home.”

Tim sat back and put his arm around behind the kid, not really touching him but still there. “Me too, kiddo.”

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, Damian clearly upset about something deeper, and Tim patiently waiting it out. Finally, the brat relaxed completely and let his head fall against Tim’s shoulder and said, “It’s just. I’m starting high school.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tim agreed, dropping his arm around to be around the boy, “it’s a pretty big deal, isn’t it?”

Damian nodded against Tim and said, “And my da- Father. Father isn’t here.”

“No, he’s not.”

“I wish he were,” Damian breathed, covering his face with the hands.

“Hey,” Tim said, wrapping both arms around the kid now in a fierce hug, “It’s okay. We’ll see him again one day. You know that, right?”

Damian nodded but didn’t respond for another minute. “I wish it were now.”

Carrie the cat made her way out of her current hiding spot to join the boys up on the couch. She found her owners lap quickly, and Damian wrapped her up into a hug. Tim smiled at her impeccable timing, always cognizant of when Damian needed her most.

Eventually, Damian relaxed and pulled away from Tim’s hug. “Do you think Father will allow me to be Robin even though I am no longer a child?”

Tim smiled and held back a ‘you’re still a child’ comment. “Yes, of course he will. You’re only 14. Dick was Robin until he was 17. Jason was 15. I was 15.”

Sighing, Damian said, “That would mean I have only six months left.”

“Nah. I was fired to make room for you, and Jason died, so neither of us really count. He’d still let you be Robin. And if not, you can become your own person, you know. I’d help you, so would everyone else.”

Damian nodded, then started crying out of absofuckenlutely nowhere.

Startled, Tim looked at the kid and said, “Damian? What’s wrong?”

“What if he’s found a new Robin?” he sniffed, “It’s been four years. Jason was only gone a few months before he got you.”

Tim pulled the kid in for a hug and held him for a couple minutes while he thought over the statement. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. He hadn’t even considered that, but it _had_ been four years, and four years is a long time in the world of vigilantes. Batman was down two partners. What if he’d replaced Robin? “We’ll burn that bridge when we get there, okay?”

Despite everything, Damian laughed at that. "Perhaps not burn it. It wouldn't be the new kid's fault."

"True."

They refocused their attention to the episode of _Futurama_ playing on the television. After Fry spent all the money he’d discovered he had built up in interest on a can of anchovies, Damian spoke up, “Aren’t you eager to be Red Robin again?”

Tim watched the antics of Mom trying to get the anchovies from Fry to prevent him from destroying her oil company, while the whole time Fry only wanted to put them on a pizza so he could relive one of his favorite things from his time. After a moment, Tim smiled and said, “I really enjoyed being Red Robin.”

Damian frowned but didn’t comment otherwise.

“Is this what your pissy mood has been about lately?” Tim asked, jostling a kid a bit with the arm still around him.

“I have not been pissy,” Damian droned.

“Right. My bad. You’ve been a ray of sunshine every moment of every day.”

“Shut up, Tim.”

“You’re my favorite,” Tim reminded with a small smile.

Damian nodded and leaned back against his older brother. “Of course I am.”

\----

One cool thing about Damian growing up was his little friends started coming around. Well. Franklin started coming over. Damian’s other friends, Molly and the other girls, all went to different high schools, so they rarely saw each other anymore.

Ever since school started, it wasn’t unusual for Tim to get home and find Franklin hanging out in the apartment. Apparently, once Frank’s mom had given the boys the green light to hang out at Damian’s, that’s pretty much the only place they spent time together. Tim still didn’t get home most days until well after dinner, so they had the place to themselves.

Tim thought he should be nervous his 14-year-old brother was unsupervised with his best friend in their apartment for hours at a time, but he wasn’t quite sure why. He just felt he should be. He’d called Frank’s mom, to Damian’s utter horror, to make sure she was aware that there was no supervision at their apartment. Since she didn’t mind, Tim figured he shouldn’t either. She was the real adult, after all. The real parent. She probably knew better.

So, it came as no surprise when Tim went home early one day to find Damian and Frank playing the Xbox.

“What the fuck,” Tim heard Damian shout just as he put the key into the door, “What are you doing? We’re on the same team you imbecile.”

With a sigh, Tim unlocked the door and opened it, just in time to hear Frank quip back, “That was for shooting me last time.”

“Damian,” Tim said flatly as he hung his keys up.

“Tim,” the teen greeted in response, “you are home early.”

“Yep,” he replied as he joined the boys on the couch and nodded his greeting at Frank, “What have I told you about cussing?”

“Not in public,” the brat snarked, then scowled as his character died on screen again, “shit, Frank what the hell?”

“Watch your back, Wagner,” the other boy said, grinning deviously at Damian.

“I have never in my life said that,” Tim snapped, “I said no cussing until you’re 19.”

“That is the most obscure age,” Frank observed, “Why 19?”

“You said 18,” Damian shouted.

Tim laughed. “Yeah, last year. This year you have to be 19 to cuss.”

“What?” The boy pressed pause on the game and turned to glare at Tim. “And will I have to be 20 next year, then?”

“That’s right. Glad you can see patterns,” Tim said, grinning, as he unlocked his iPad to figure out dinner.

“Fuck you, Tim,” Damian griped, turning back to his game.

“Ew,” Tim said, attempting to make a disgusted face but failing due to his amusement, “No thanks. That’s gross. And illegal.”

Damian grabbed a coaster off the coffee table and flung it at Tim. “Shut up.”

Tim caught it and doubled over in laughter. Damian had turned bright red. When he finally recovered, he asked, “What do you boys want for dinner?”

“Pizza,” Frank suggested without even looking up from their game.

“Have you ever had his pizza?” Damian asked, “It’s disgusting. He is terrible at making crusts.”

“I thought he was suggesting we order in,” Frank whispered back, neither of them speaking quietly enough for Tim not to hear.

“Just for that,” Tim declared, standing, “I’m making pizza.”

“It’s always soggy,” the brat groaned.

“It is not,” Tim grumbled as he googled ‘pizza crust soggy’ on his way to the kitchen.

An hour later, Tim had a totally not soggy pizza fully baked and ready for two hungry teenagers to devour. Actually, he probably should have made two pizzas. They were teenagers, and Tim’s eating habits at that age were nothing like Damian’s. If Frank were anything like Damian…

They were going to eat a salad before the pizza. Yep.

“Hey, brats,” Tim said, since apparently they were oblivious to the fact he had finished dinner, “Soups on.”

“I thought we were having pizza?” Frank said as he hopped up, clearly confused.

“Oh my god, Frank,” Damian exasperated.

During dinner, Damain got on a rant about his English teacher and how absolutely incompetent the poor woman was.

You’re just mad you got a B,” Franklin said with a grin between bites of his pizza.

Tim raised an eyebrow and said, “You did what now?”

“Frank,” Damian whined at his friend.

The kid ducked his head and said, “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d get in trouble.”

“He’s not in trouble,” Tim said, rolling his eyes, then turned to Damian, “You aren’t in trouble, but I’m a little shocked.” As far as Tim knew, Damian had made perfect scores on _everything_ thus far in school. Had the brat finally found his level work? In 9th grade? What even?

Damian bristled and said quickly, “She’s a bitch, that’s why she did it. She doesn’t like me and graded my paper harshly because of it. She said my interpretation of Charles Dicken’s _Hard Times_ was misguided and narrow-minded and failed to take in account the broader context of the time. Which is complete bullshit because the novel was a critique of Utilitarianism, and just happened to take place in industrial England, and I _did_ write about that fact, too.”

“The essay prompt was to write about the context,” Frank offered.

“Humph,” Damian huffed, crossing his arms.

“Also, he wrote fifteen pages when the assignment was for three,” Frank added helpfully.

“Why is doing extra work punished?” Damian demanded.

Tim rolled his eyes at his nerd of a little brother. “It’s important you learn to synthesize your argument to adhere to the page limit. Being long winded is just as bad as not delving into the topic enough.”

“That’s stupid. A paper should be as long as it needs to be, not tailored to a teacher’s arbitrary page requirement.”

“Well,” Tim said as he continued eating, “It looks like you’re going to have a challenging year.”

Damian glared at Tim as he let out an angry breath. “Great.”

\----

“Oh my god,” Tim groaned while he and Kyla watched _Titanic_ together. Really, Tim should stop letting her pick movies.

Kyla swatted his arm and said, “Shush, this is beautiful”

“This is stupid,” he complained. They were watching the scene where Jack sacrificed himself to save Rose from the freezing waters, “I mean what the fuck is this? He decides to die for a girl he just met? It must have been some sex for him to just decide his life is complete so he can die now.”

“Shut up,” Kyla said, poking her elbow into his side, completely on purpose, Tim knew, “he loves her. It’s cute.”

Tim snorted and pushed her arm away from him.

“Why are you laughing!” she demanded, “Stop making fun of my favorite movie. This is so sweet. He loves her unconditionally and is dying to save her. It’s romantic.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tim responded, “I mean, come on, Kyla. Unconditional love does not exist. And while, yes, people do die to protect others, they don’t do it for random stupid girls they just met. Not unless they have some sort of hero complex, and Jack hasn’t been depicted as being that way.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Kyla said, turning on the couch to face Tim directly, “You can’t seriously believe that.”

Tim rolled his eyes, “It’s just an observation.”

“How shitty were your parents that you seriously think this?”

“What?” Tim asked, narrowing his eyes. How did this have anything to do with his parents?

“That unconditional love doesn’t exist!” she mock shouted.

“Hey,” he said, slightly offended, “they weren’t that bad.” They’d still never discussed much about his past. She knew his family was ‘dead’ and that was why Damian lived with him, but she’d never pried into his past. It was something he and Damian never spoke about, so it was something she never asked after.

Kyla raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. So, what does Damian do to earn your love, then?”

“What?” Tim asked. What kind of question was that?

“If unconditional love does not exist, then what is the condition on which Damian earns your love?”

“He-” Tim paused. He couldn’t think of a single thing that caused him to love Damian. There were so many things he loved about the teen, and quite a few he didn’t like, honestly, but none of it was the exact reason he loved the kid. He just simply did. “He’s my brother.”

“Right, and if tomorrow you found out you two weren’t actually related, you would quit loving him, then?”

Tim laughed. “We aren’t related. I was adopted.”

That made Kyla blink, then say, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. And his mother kept him a secret from Dad until he turned ten, so I hadn’t even known him a year before I was suddenly his guardian.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said slowly, “Wow. What other secrets are you keeping from me?” she asked, smacking Tim on the shoulder.

“Hey,” Tim said, rubbing at the spot, “Quit hitting me, and I wasn’t keeping it a secret. You just never asked.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, bringing their conversation back to the original derailment, “So, you love Damian despite having no biological ties to him. He does nothing to earn the love. Could he lose it? Could he do something to make you stop caring about him?”

Tim thought about it. His and his brother’s relationship had been complicated, and certainly hadn’t started off well, but Tim had loved Damian long before the child had warmed up to him.

He remembered being kind of excited about having a little brother when he found out Damian existed. Confused. Startled. A little scared that Bruce would kick him out in favor of Damian, but excited that he might get to be a big brother to a child the way Dick was to him.

Damian had tried to kill Tim. On multiple occasions. Had said horrible things to him on a daily basis. Yet, despite all that, Tim cared about the kid enough to raise him when they were stranded. And why?

Because Damian was Tim’s brother.

No. There was nothing the kid could do to change that.

“I guess not,” Tim rasped. His eyes were still pointed at the girl, but his focus was off in the distance, completely lost in his thoughts.

Kyla wrapped her arms around Tim’s arm and leaned against him. “Good parents love their children unconditionally, and you, Timothy Wagner, are a good parent. I don’t see how you can’t believe in unconditional love when you have it for Damian.”

Tim smiled and leaned his head on hers.

“And you know, Tim, I see how Damian looks at you. I’ve heard him talk about you when you aren’t around. He admires you. I have no doubt he loves you just as much as you love him.”

They went back to watching Rose selfishly hog the floating debris as Jack froze to death unnecessarily, because really, she was the one who jumped out of the life boat. Stupid bitch. As they watched, though, Tim’s thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Love was always something Tim had to earn growing up. He had to be perfect in school and behavior to earn his parent’s love and attention, yet always seemed to fall short. No matter how hard he tried, how much he did to impress them, they always went away again. Always had another trip. Always forgot to call.

He was Robin to earn Bruce’s love. He did everything he could to be the best Red Robin he could, learned every skill, tackled every case, inserted himself right in the middle of the vigilante world. Without Robin, though, he was nothing to the bat family. He was just another ally, no longer an important member.

Love was always something Tim had to earn, and something he never did.

But Kyla was right.

He wasn’t alone. Hell, he hadn’t felt lonely in _years_. All because of a stupid little brat he adored. A stupid little brat that was an inch taller than him already.

Would that have happened without them being stranded in this universe? Had he not had to suddenly take care of Damian?

The sound of Kyla sniffing made Tim look down at her. “Are you really crying over this movie?” he asked, amused.

“Shut up, Tim.”

Tim just smiled and wrapped his arm around her. "You're ridiculous."

\----

“Your text was a little cryptic,” Kyla said when she found Tim sitting at a table in the back of the restaurant.

“How so? I thought it was fairly straightforward,” Tim replied as he sipped at his soda. He had texted her that they needed to talk and invited her to dinner at a little Mexican place down the street from where she lived. Nothing cryptic about that.

The girl rolled her eyes and gave the waiter her drink order, then picked up the menu. “You know, you can’t break up with me,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Kyla,” Tim said flatly, “we aren’t dating.”

“Exactly,” she said, grinning, “so you can’t break up with me.”

Once they had ordered and received their food, Tim finally broke the topic he had wanted to discuss.

“So,” he said, pushing around the rice on his plate, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, “You’re making me a little nervous here, Timmers.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim took a deep breath and just delved into it, “For starters, I’m not 22.”

“Duh,” she joked.

Unphased by the interruption, Tim continued, “I’m 20. And I’m not from Philadelphia. I’m from a town called Gotham. Well, I actually grew up in Bristol Township, but it’s a suburb of Gotham.”

“I mean,” she said, pulling Tim’s attention this time, “I already knew this. Not the name of the town or anything, but I knew you were lying about where you were from.”

“Really?” Tim asked with a raise of his eyebrow, “And you didn’t care?”

“Who cares where you’re from?” Kyla said, clearly offended Tim even thought she would, “And besides, I figured you had a reason. Are you in witness protection or something?”

Tim shook his head and offered a smile.

“You aren’t running from the law, are you?”

“No, Kyla. Nothing like that. Being here wasn’t our choice.”

“All right,” she said. After a bite of her chimichanga, she asked, “So why are you here? And where is Bristol?”

“This is the part you won’t believe,” Tim said with a sigh.

“Try me.”

After a sip of his coke, he explained, “It’s in south New Jersey, across the bay from Delaware.”

Kyla shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

“That’s because it’s not in this universe.”

Tim made a conscious effort not to hold his breath as Kyla studied him closely. Her narrowed eyes searched his face while she chewed on the side of her cheek. Tim really wished he could hear what she was thinking, to know what was going on in her head, because right now he really needed feedback.

“Huh,” she finally said, returning her attention back to her food. “So _that’s_ why you’re studying the multiverse.”

Letting out a nervous laugh, Tim said, “Yeah. Trying to get Damian and myself back to our world. It’s been four years, I’m sure our dad is going crazy.”

After another minute of silence and Kyla absently nodding, she said, “Okay. Cool. Thanks for sharing.”

“That’s it?” Tim asked, bewildered, “You don’t have any questions?”

She shrugged. “What kind of questions should I be asking?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said, holding his hands up, “Jordan went crazy with questions. Oh! I didn’t tell you the unbelievable part. In my world, superheroes are real.”

That made Kyla smile as she asked, “Like Superman?”

“Yeah, our universe is written about in DC comics here.”

“So do you _know_ Superman?” she asked excitedly.

Tim smiled and nodded, “Yep. Pretty well. One of my best friends is related to him and he’s my dad’s best friend.”

“Your dad is Jimmy Olsen?” Kyla asked, scrunching her face, “I didn’t know he had kids.”

“What?” Tim said, “No. What?”

“Isn’t that Clark Kent’s best friend?”

“No?” Tim said, wracking his brain for who the heck Jimmy Olsen even was, “My dad is Bruce Wayne.”

“Oh, I know this,” she said, looking up to the ceiling, “that’s the one all the guys like. Batman! He’s Batman, right?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know _Batman_ had kids, either. Well, there’s Robin. He’s a kid, right? Is he Batman’s kid?”

“Damian is Robin,” Tim offered, “so yes. I used to be Robin, but I grew up and now I’m known as Red Robin.”

“You’re a superhero?” she asked with a lopsided grin, “That’s so hot.”

“Uh. Um, thanks?” he said, blinking, “We, um, call ourselves vigilantes though… because we fight crime and stuff. I guess, I mean we do stuff with the Justice League a lot too, since Bruce like runs it, but we aren’t… Yeah. It’s just a job.”

“Cool.”

\----

When he got home, Tim found Damian reading a book on the couch. After dropping down next to his brother, Tim said, “So I told Kyla.”

“Yeah?” Damian said absently as he turned the page.

Tim nodded. “Yeah.”

“How’d it go?”

With a shrug, he offered, “She said it’s cool we’re vigilantes.”

“Is she familiar with our comics?” Damian asked, closing his book without putting in a bookmark. Of course he’d just remember which page he was on.

“No, she thought Jimmy Olsen was Superman’s best friend, not Bruce.”

“The photographer?” the brat mused, “I suppose in some runs he is Superman’s best friend. I believe that’s how it was portrayed in _Supergirl,_ although I admit to only having seen a few episodes of the first season of that.”

Tim shrugged. “I haven’t delved too deep into any of the DC stuff.”

“You really should. It’s helped me gain perspective, for sure.”

“What do you mean?” Tim asked, turning his gaze on the teen, “Perspective on what?”

In response, Damian got up and retrieved a book from his bedroom. “This,” he said, handing the book to Tim, “is the story of my arrival to Gotham. It is fairly accurate, unfortunately. Before, I had only seen my own side of everything. My own skewed perspective. After reading through this, I understood the actions of everyone around me much clearer."

Tim frowned and flipped through the book, pausing every few pages to read over particularly interesting looking panels. “That’s cool, I guess. I don’t know why you’d want to torture yourself with this, though.”

Once he was done flipping through the book, which was some sort of volume of many issues put together, Tim asked, “Do you think we’d be friends if we didn’t get stranded here?”

Damian nodded thoughtfully and said, “I was a brat when I was ten, but I was growing out of it. I’d like to think that yes, we would have. Eventually.”

“It wasn’t all you, kid,” Tim said, “I wasn’t very nice to you, either.”

“I kind of deserved it. I tried to kill you several times, the first time in direct response to you being nice.” Damian pointed toward the closed book in Tim’s lap. “Hell, I tried to kill you once after we got stuck here. I was the one who ruined our relationship in the beginning. I’m sorry about that.”

“I forgive you, kiddo. I forgave you years ago.” After a moment, Tim sighed and asked, “Can you forgive me for not looking beyond your past and lineage when I put you on my hit list?”

Damian slouched down and leaned his head against Tim. “That really hurt me.”

“I know.”

“Not how you think. It made me realize that I would never be able to atone for my actions against you. And then my response was to cut your stupid line, just proving to you and myself that I would never rise above my childhood.”

“You have, though.”

“Oh,” Damian said, hopping up again. A moment later, he returned with another comic book he was flipping through, “Is this what happened, when Pennyworth took me away from you and Grayson?”

Tim took the comic and read the panels where Tim and Dick discussed hiding Tim’s stuff from Damian better. “Yeah. That’s… Yeah. This is so fucking weird, you know?”

“This is what I was talking about. Reading these has helped me gain perspective on my own life.”

Flipping through the comic again, Tim frowned. “I can’t believe I ever thought you didn’t have emotions.”

Damian leaned back down against Tim and said, “Maybe you should read some of our comics.”

“Yeah. Perhaps,” Tim agreed, setting it aside and closing his eyes. It was late. He was tired. “Love you, Dames.”

The teen nodded and Tim heard the sound of a page turning. “You too.”

\----

The year absolutely flew by. Before Tim could blink, it was spring time, and Tim was presenting his research at a conference in the city.

He was nervous going in, but Kyla attended the presentation, so he had someone he could focus on while talking. She came to his lab at least once a week, so she’d already heard everything he had to say about the topic, meaning it was incredibly easy to talk to her about it.

Tim spoke about the rips he’d discovered and the implications the readings had on the field. He discussed his thoughts on the findings, how he thought it meant that another universe was trying to travel to theirs, and offered possible next steps with the research.

Once he was done, he got a deafening round of applause, followed by a lively Q&A session. Every physicist in the room had a thought to add, and by the end of it, Tim had contacts at a dozen major research universities across the country with whom to collaborate.

When it was finally all over, Kyla found her way by his side and started wandering the conference hall with him. Tim wanted a cup of coffee and a donut, or something. He needed something to eat after the presentation. Between the nerves and the sheer length of the event, he hadn’t eaten in several hours.

“All those people think you’re really smart,” Kyla observed once they’d finally found snacks and retreated to a quiet corner.

“And you don’t?” Tim asked between bites of the danish he’d procured. One of the danishes. He hadn’t been able to decide between raspberry or cheese.

She grinned and said, “That wasn’t where I was going with that. When you do this- when you prove the multiverse is real, you’re going to be huge.”

Tim nodded and took another bite of his snack. “I suppose.”

Kyla hopped up to sit on the table they were leaning against, making her the same height as Tim. “What are you going to do, once you build a working portal?”

“Go home,” he replied, finishing off his first pastry.

“Really?”

He eyed his second treat and said, “Yeah, probably.”

Kyla leaned over and gave Tim a peck on the cheek. “Well, I hope that’s not for a long time.”

Tim smiled wide and let out a laugh. “Don’t let Damian hear that.”

“He seems pretty happy here.”

Tim set his coffee down to wrap an arm around Kyla. “Yeah, he has his moments. But that’s our home, you know? That’s where Dad is.”

“Yeah, I get it,” she said, snatching the danish from Tim’s hand, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun here now.” Before Tim could grab it back, Kyla stuffed half the cheese pastry in her mouth and hopped up.

“Hey,” he said, chasing after her, “Cheese ones are my favorite. I was saving the best for last.” When he realized he’d left his coffee back on the table, he stopped and shouted, “Kyla!”

As he retrieved his coffee he thought, yeah. He was having fun here.


	25. Five Years

The conclusion of Damian’s freshman year was something else. Despite his assurance that he ‘wouldn’t join as many clubs this time,’ the brat had, in fact, joined a lot of clubs.

He made it onto the academic decathlon team, participated in robotics, and joined the theater club. All that on top of his outside theater company and various lessons and fencing. The kid was busy.

Tim wasn’t really one to talk. He kept busy, too. He had classes and lab work on top of his regular work. He had been spending more time in the office than in previous years, so that kept him out of the house a bit more.

As a result, Tim felt like he never saw his little brother. They ran together each morning and spent Sunday together, and that was about the size of it.

The apartment felt too lonely the few nights a week he got home in time for dinner. Even if Kyla came over, or very occasionally, Jordan, he still missed the runt’s presence.

But Damian was happy. Really, ridiculously, happy. It made Tim smile just thinking about it, so he didn’t say a word to the brat on the topic.

Tim sat on the couch, eating some chips while he waited for Kyla to get upstairs. He had already buzzed her in and unlocked the door and was now just waiting. Well, he was actually watching _Star Trek_. Same difference.

Kyla came skipping in, locking the door behind her. Tim said a simple, “Yo,” in greeting without looking away from the television. It was the original series, and while he’d seen every episode a dozen times each, he still loved it.

“You’re such a dork,” she whined from somewhere in the kitchen where she was likely helping herself to a soda and snack.

“Yep,” Tim agreed.

Finally, Kyla plopped down on the couch next to Tim and grinned at him, a huge stack of books in her lap. “So,” she said, still smiling.

“So,” Tim repeated, trying to inspect the books, but failing because she had their titles well hidden.

Kyla pulled the books out of his reach and said, “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said back, now very curious about what she brought. Because she was nervous, and it was adorable.

“Okay,” she finally said, pulling a book out of the pile and flipping it over so Tim could see the title, “so I’ve been reading these.”

Tim took the book from her and read the title _Red Robin_ and took in the image of himself on the cover. “My comics?” he asked, flipping through the book.

“Yep. You never actually told me your superhero name or what your real name is, but it wasn’t hard to figure out once I started googling batman’s kids.” She grinned again and spread out her collection on the coffee table. “So, Mr. Drake, which is your favorite?”

“Hmm,” he said, inspecting all the titles, “I’ve really only read the important arcs, and I wouldn’t say I have a favorite. I’ve found it all pretty embarrassing to read, or just uncomfortable. I don’t like reading about myself.”

“Well, you’re a pretty neat character, Timmy. But DC keeps changing your backstory?”

“Does it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. How can a backstory change? Perhaps the comics were about multiple universes, and Tim and Damian were from just one of them?

“Are your parents in witness protection?” she asked, scrolling through something on her phone.

“Like, Jack and Janet?” he asked, scrunching an eyebrow. As far as he was aware none of his parents were in witness protection. Was that really a story arc?

“Yes, there are two back stories for you. In one case they both died after you became Robin, and in the other they were in witness protection.”

“I should probably be very creeped out you’ve stalked me so thoroughly, but I find it strangely touching you’ve done research on my backstory.”

“Shut up, Tim,” she said, cheeks flushing a bit, “You told me you’re a _superhero,_ of course I did research.”

“I said I was a vigilante,” he corrected.

“Same thing! So since you said Batman adopted you, I’m just gonna assume…” she said, trailing off as if she finally realized she wasn’t talking about the deaths of fictional characters, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he assured, “I got over it years ago. So what is your favorite of these? Maybe I’ll read it.”

“Honestly,” she said, grabbing Tim’s tablet off the coffee table where it lived, “I like fanfiction better.”

At that, Tim buried his face in his hands and groaned, “Oh my God,” as Kyla started pulling up her favorite stories for Tim to read.

\----

“Tim,” Damian exclaimed as he entered the apartment near midnight one night near the end of the semester.

“Oh my God, you’re bouncing,” Tim said when he looked up from his homework. The kid was absolutely vibrating with excitement. How cute.

“A casting agent was at our performance tonight,” he said, hopping over the side of the couch to sit next to Tim. He had to quickly move his notebook so the brat wouldn’t destroy his notes.

“Oh yeah?” he asked absently while he organized his schoolwork on the coffee table.

“Yes, and she asked me to audition for the role of John Darling at the Mars Theater production of _Peter Pan._ ”

“Is that good?” Tim asked, curious why it was any different from any other play he’d be in.

“If I get the part,” the brat practically giggled, “I’ll be paid!”

“So, it’ll be like a job?” he said, raising an eyebrow, “Like Broadway?”

“No, not like Broadway, but it’s a step in that direction.” Damian pulled a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket and shoved it at Tim.

Tim nodded while he looked over the information about the audition. He’d have to fill out a lot of paperwork for the brat to do this. Of course he would. That’s all he ever did for Damian anymore. Paperwork. “Do you have time for this?” Tim asked, looking up from the fine print.

Damian visibly deflated, and Tim hated every fiber of his being that led him to thinking through the actual feasibility of things. “What?” he asked.

Instead of backtracking and being encouraging, like a good brother would do, Tim pressed on, “So near daily rehearsals for this, multiple performances a week, show runs a month,” he read off the paper.

“Yeah, there’s so much time to develop the character and settle into it. It’ll be great.”

“How are you going to balance this with everything else? School doesn’t end for another month, you have finals coming up.”

“I can handle it,” Damian insisted, taking the paper back from Tim.

“There’s all your other lessons. Will you be dropping drama club and your theater company? Dance lessons? Vocal lessons? What about fencing?”

Damian pursed his lips and said, “I can handle it, Tim.”

“You realize Pat is grooming you for the Olympics, right?” Tim asked, holding his hands out to the side, “That’s what’s going on there.”

“Yes,” Damian drawled, anger seeping onto his face, “I am aware.”

“You’re going to start travelling for that. To qualify you have to compete all across the region between now and the next deadline.”

“I know,” he snapped, “I know that.”

“Damian, something has to give. You can’t do all three. You can’t travel for fencing and stay put for musicals. You can’t fit in all this training, lessons, and rehearsals in with school and homework.”

“Fencing won’t become that demanding for at least another year,” Damian shot back, jumping to his feet, “I have to win state before anything. School is only 8 hours of my day, I can fence beforehand and do rehearsals after, when they actually are. Then there are the weekends, when I can have any other lessons needed and do my homework. _I can do this_ , Tim.”

Tim crossed his arms, unamused with the brat’s little speech. “You’re suggesting you work 12, no, 18-hour days. Every day. At 15.”

“Are _you_ really telling me I can’t work that hard at 15?”

“I–” Tim paused, then blinked. Damn. Was he this young when he was 15? Obviously he was, right? Who in their right mind threw so much work at him? “Okay, that’s fair. But I’m telling you this now, not because it’s an arbitrary rule I’m making up, but because this is how it’ll be. You won’t be able to do all three in the very near future. Something has to give. If that’s school, so be it, but I’m not even convinced you can do just fencing and theater, even if you drop out and get a GED. Fencing demands you travel and theater requires you be stationary. They don’t mesh.”

Damian sat back down on the couch and rested his head on his hands. After a couple long moments of silence, he turned to Tim and said, “Fencing is a hobby. Theater is a passion.”

“Make sure Pat is aware of this, Dames,” Tim warned. The last thing he wanted was for Pat to put his all into Damian thinking he’d be the next Gold Medalist just to learn the kid skipped the Olympics to play Aladdin or something.

“Okay,” he said, nodding as he stood to go to bed.

Tim still felt guilty he’d rained on the kid’s parade. “Damian?”

“Yeah?” he asked, turning back to face him.

“I’m really proud of you.”

That made the kid smile again as he said, “Thanks. Good night.”

\----

The Friday after Tim’s semester ended, Kyla spent most the afternoon and evening hanging out at the apartment. Since they still hadn’t finished watching through _Friends_ , mostly because Tim did everything in his power to avoid watching it, that’s what they found themselves doing while they waited for Damian to get home. The brat was supposed to be back in time for dinner.

“I don’t get why my mom doesn’t like you,” Kyla thought aloud randomly, half way through the third episode that evening.

“What?” Tim said, snapping his gaze to Kyla, “Your mom doesn’t like me?”

The girl shrugged from the floor where she was sitting, playing with some logic puzzle Damian had sitting on the coffee table. “Yeah, she kind of hates you. Sorry.”

“But she’s always so nice to me,” Tim said, frowning.

Kyla ignored him and started ticking off on her fingers, “You’re smart. You have a good job. You’re kind. You’re a ‘nice Jewish boy.’ You’re-”

“I’m not Jewish,” Tim cut in, raising an eyebrow.

“Your mom was Jewish, that makes you Jewish,” she said, waving a hand at him, “I don’t make the rules.”

“Okay,” Tim said, rolling his eyes, “but I’m an atheist, and my mom was never around enough to pass on anything cultural.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she sang, rearranging the pieces of the puzzle she was working on.

“Hm. Fine. Why does it matter if your mom likes me anyway?”

“Oh, it doesn’t,” she said, grinning, “I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. She just gave me a bunch of lip before I came over here today.”

“Sorry,” Tim said, not sure what else to say.

“Not your fault, Timmy.”

When Damian got home, Tim started fixing dinner while Kyla and Damian sat at the island. It was strangely nostalgic, and Tim was loving every second of it.

“Okay, but you don’t see him at four in the morning after two days of no sleep,” Damian was saying to Kyla while Tim pan fried some green beans to go with the ‘chicken fried tofu’ he’d prepared. For some reason their rare time spent together had turned into a ‘who has the most embarrassing story about Tim’ contest.

Kyla laughed and said, “Do tell.”

“Damian,” Tim whined, tossing the green beans around a bit.

“One time, Tim wandered around the apartment for a good ten minutes before I finally got up and asked him what his problem was.”

“Yeah?” Kyla prompted, grinning deviously at Tim.

“Please, I’m begging you, Dames.”

“He said, ‘I can’t find the koala.’ When I asked him what the hell he was talking about, he got more frantic and demanded I help him find the missing koala because it was the key to the case he was working on.”

“What case was that?” Kyla asked, turning sweetly to Tim.

“I was basically sleep walking, can we shut up now?”

“So of course, being nice, I tried to direct him to bed,” Damian continued, despite Tim’s loud groan in protest, “but when I grabbed his arm and tried to drag him, he pulled at me and started patting my head, rambling about how spiky my hair was. Then he abruptly said that I couldn’t be an elephant, my face was too orange. Then he collapsed on the couch and fell asleep.”

“What the fuck,” was all Kyla said.

“I was asleep,” Tim whined, adding a bit more seasoning to the beans, “you can’t hold me accountable for sleep talking.”

“You sleep talk, that is so adorable.”

“This other time,” Damian began, just to have Tim shout over him.

“Okay, that’s enough you little demon. New topic.”

“I am not a demon,” Damian pouted, scrunching his nose at Tim. The action reminded Tim of that little 10 year old kid he’d first met that night in the cave over five years ago.

“I don’t know, Dami,” Kyla said, turning a thoughtful gaze on him, “at least demons are cooler than zombies.” She smirked and motioned for Tim with the last bit of her sentence.

“What?” Tim demanded, “I am not a zombie.”

“Are you sure?” Kyla said, grinning now.

“Ugh,” he said, dumping the beans out on a plate, “If anyone’s a zombie, it’s Jason.”

“Technically true,” Damian added.

“Then what is Tim?” Kyla asked Damian as she got up to help him retrieve plates and silverware.

Damian opened the cabinet and pulled out three plates and glasses and said, “A vampire?”

Tim let out a loud groan, begging the two of them to stop.

“Yes,” Kyla exclaimed, “he is a vampire!”

“I don’t drink blood or fly.”

“Debatable,” Damian said with the slightest bit of a smile tugging at his lips. Little shit.

“You do have the whole nocturnal-allergic-to-the-sun thing going on,” Kyla offered, gesturing toward Tim’s body, “You are ghostly white.”

“I hate you,” Tim whined as he served out the food.

“He could just be a ghost,” Damian pointed out.

“Hmm. Perhaps.” Kyla took a plate of food and sat down. “We should watch Ghostbusters tonight.”

Damian quickly followed the girl to the island with his own food and said, “Never seen that one.”

Three hours later, after they’d had heaping bowls of ice cream and watched _Ghostbusters_ , Damian and Kyla started debating over whether Tim was, in fact, a ghost.

Tim held a pillow up to his face in attempt to block them out when Kyla whisper shouted, “I know how we could test this theory,” to Damian.

“I swear to God, Kyla,” Tim said, tossing the pillow at the general direction of the two of them, “if you two get the vacuum out I am changing the locks and never buzzing you in ever again.”

Kyla dodged the pillow and circled around the couch, placing her hands on either side of Tim’s head to force him to look up at her. “Fine, fine,” she said, laughing, “We won’t expose you tonight.” She leaned over and planted a kiss in his hair, then said, “I’ve gotta go though, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim said, waving a hand to shoo her away, “See you.”

\----

Loud banging on the front door startled Tim from the sleep he’d managed to fall into just past midnight one day in late June. Grumpy as ever, Tim forced himself out of bed and into the main living area of his apartment. Damian poked his head out of his bedroom and gave Tim a pensive look.

That’s when Tim realized he should be a bit more wary.

While it wasn’t exactly the best security, the building did have security. Visitors had to be buzzed in, and as far as Tim knew, neither he nor Damian had granted a visitor access. Waving a hand at Damian to stay out of sight, Tim cautiously approached the door and peeked out through the peephole. Then sighed.

After unlocking and removing the chain, he swung the door open to see a very frustrated looking Kyla glaring at him.

“That took you forever,” she said, storming in past Tim, tossing a backpack on the ground as she went.

“Yes,” Tim said, rubbing the bleariness from his eye as he shut the door back, “that’s what happens when it’s like 1am and you show up unexpected. How’d you even get in?”

“Followed some drunk in, how else? You weren’t answering your phone,” she said, flinging herself down on the couch, “Mom and I got into a fight, so I’m staying here tonight.”

Tim let out a long sigh and mumbled sarcastically, “ _Can I crash on your couch, Tim?_ Of course, Kyla, you’re always welcome here. _Gee, thanks, Tim, you’re the best._ ”

Instead of laugh or joke back or really do anything Tim was expecting, Kyla shot him a withering glare that finished waking him up.

“Okay, you’re really upset,” he said, frowning as he went to get them a couple waters from the fridge, “want to talk about it?”

Tim saw Damian quietly slip back into his room and shut his bedroom door, whether it was to give them privacy or to escape the conversation, he wasn’t sure, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

“No,” Kyla whined, then corrected, “yes. I don’t know. What I really want is to just sleep.”

“Okay,” Tim said, leaning over the couch to hand her a bottle of water, “we can talk in the morning if you want.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the water. Tim retrieved a blanket from the closet and the extra pillows off his bed. He’d put four pillows on the bed so it wouldn’t look stupid, but only ever slept on two of them.

“Do you have PJs? Some of Damian’s old stuff would probably fit you if you don’t.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, “in my bag.”

“Okay. Well, if you’re good, I’m going back to bed. You know where to find me if you need anything. Help yourself to the kitchen.”

As he was turning to retreat to his room, she reached out and grabbed his hand. “Thanks, Tim,” she said, smiling sadly at him.

Tim squeezed the hand and said, “Of course, Kyla.”

As hard as he tried, Tim couldn’t sleep. He spent the next few hours puzzling over what to even say to Kyla. The girl was very happy-go-lucky, so it was weird to see her so upset that she didn’t even want to talk.

He spent most the night tossing and turning, until he eventually gave up and watched YouTube on his tablet. With headphones, of course, he didn’t want to disturb Damian or Kyla. Their walls were ridiculously thin.

When he finally got up around 7, he went into the main living area to find Kyla still asleep and Damian taking a shower. Quietly, he got to work fixing breakfast. By the time his coffee was done brewing, though, Kyla was up and sitting at the counter.

“Mornin’,” she said, greedily reaching for the mug of coffee Tim was pouring.

With a roll of his eyes, Tim passed the mug to her and got himself another one.

Breakfast passed in companionable silence until Damian put his shoes on to leave. “I’ve got fencing, dance, and then a performance,” he said, lacing up his converse, “so I’ll be back around midnight.”

“Alright,” Tim said, standing to set a hand on his shoulder, “don’t forget to text and let me know when you’re leaving the theater tonight.”

The teen nodded and stood. “Of course. See you later. Bye, Kyla.”

“He’s such a sweet kid,” Kyla observed.

“Man I can’t wait for our dad to hear that phrase,” Tim said, smiling.

Kyla let out a long sigh, then laid her head on the counter.

“So, what’s up?” Tim asked, taking the hint and sitting across from her at the island.

“Mom was pissed I got in past 10 last night,” she said, turning her head so she could see Tim, “she yelled at me for a while about curfews. I’m 24, she can’t seriously expect to enforce a curfew on me. It’s not like I freeload. I contribute to the bills. I work. I go to school. She can’t treat me like a 16-year-old.”

“That is pretty crazy,” Tim said, scrunching his eyebrows, “I don’t even enforce a curfew on Damian.”

“Yeah, I noticed. She’s also mad that I was here, particularly. She accused me of spending far too much time, said it was inappropriate to spent so much time alone with a boy at his apartment.” Kyla rolled her eyes dramatically and sat up to drink some coffee. “Said our relationship is inappropriate and should end.”

Tim snorted and said, “Yeah, watching _The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_ for six hours was extremely sinful. Shame on us.”

She smiled briefly, then frowned. “Tim, what are we doing?”

“Drinking coffee?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I mean us. My mom think’s we’re dating.”

Tim paused for a moment, before he took another sip of coffee. “Well, if we were dating, you wouldn’t have slept out here last night.”

That made Kyla grin as she said, “We could just be a good Jewish couple, behaving ourselves.”

“I don’t think those words can ever be used to describe me,” Tim said, returning the girl’s smile.

“But seriously,” she said, her face falling again, “are we dating?”

“Would,” Tim said, then paused for a minute to think, “Would that be bad? If we were?”

Her smile returned, shyly this time, as she said, “No. Not bad.”

\----

On Tim’s 21st birthday, Damian, Kyla, Jordan, and he all went out for dinner. And for the first time in his life, because despite his joke to Kyla, he could behave himself, Tim had a drink.

It wasn’t really that he had a problem with drinking, he just never had the desire to do so. The activity never appealed to him, but this was his 21st birthday and it was an American tradition to go out for drinks.

“Are you guys going on vacation this year?” Jordan asked a couple drinks into the night. None of them would go past two or three drinks, slowly drank with food, since Damian was with them. The teen was sitting next to Jordan, pouting about being denied the opportunity to ‘taste’ Tim’s drink.

“Probably not,” Tim said from across the booth where he sat next to Kyla, “Damian’s show runs right up until school starts.”

“That sucks,” the other man replied ruffling Damian’s hair in an attempt to cheer him up.

“Get your hands off me,” Damian said, swatting Jordan away, “perhaps we can go somewhere for Thanksgiving instead.”

“Oh, take me,” Kyla said, looking up at Tim from where she was leaning against him, “and lets all go to Disney World.”

Tim smiled and wrapped his arm around her. “That sounds expensive.”

“I am in desperate need of a picture of Damian Wagner with _the_ Peter Pan,” she said, grinning over at the teenager.

“You have a picture of me with Peter Pan. He’s an actor, just the same as the cast members at Disney.”

“Maybe over winter break,” Tim conceded. A trip to Disney World would actually be pretty fun. He’d been once, years ago with Bruce and Dick. It would be fun to take Damian.

“Jordan, you come too,” Kyla said.

The man laughed and said, “I would feel bad if the kid had to go alone with you two. I can save him from having to share a room with you guys.”

Tim flushed and Kyla scowled, “We would never,” she exclaimed, “oh my gosh he’s just a baby!”

Damian and Jordan burst out in laughter.

\----

In September, with a lot of assistance from Damian, Tim built his first portal prototype.

The two of them had spent hundreds of hours throughout the past six months drawing up the blueprints, and dozens of hours building the prototype. The object was a small circular device with a hollow center where the portal would, hopefully, activate. If it worked, it wouldn’t work to send Tim and Damian home, but it could be used to pass objects through.

Tim wanted to be absolutely sure the trip wouldn’t kill them before he and Damian stepped through.

Handing the switch to Damian, Tim went to plug everything in so they could perform the first test. It was nearly midnight one Wednesday, and both of them would regret putting so many extra hours in at the lab in the morning, but they were both too excited to quit once they realized they were just a few hours work from the first test.

“Okay, it’s all powered up. Just need to calibrate…” Tim mumbled while he fiddled with everything, “Okay. We should be ready.”

Damian nodded and took a deep breath. Before he hit the button, however, he turned to his older brother and said, “Tim. This could be it.”

“The first step towards it, at least,” Tim said, patting Damian’s shoulder.

“If this works, and we get things through safely. We could easily just send Father a note and have him come get us. This could all be over tomorrow.”

Tim hopped up on the table and looked over at his ‘little’ brother, “Yeah, it could be.”

Damian frowned, and a question tugged at Tim’s mind. “Damian,” he said slowly, “if that were to happen, would you want to go home?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, easily, “but I might ask him to let us stay a couple more weeks. To say goodbye to everyone, you know?”

Tim smiled warmly and pointed at the clicker in the teen’s hands, “Shall we?”

The kid counted backward from 10, like the overdramatic shit he was, and finally pressed the button.

They watched the machine with baited breath, five years of work weighing heavily on the results of this test.

And they waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened.

Damian pressed the buttons a few more times, which prompted him to check all the wiring himself before he deflated. “It didn’t work.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, frowning. He began recording all the results in his notebook, ready to begin the second prototype tomorrow.

“Perhaps it requires a better power source,” the brat mused while he reviewed their blueprints.

“Whatever it needs,” Tim sighed, “should probably wait for another day. It’s late.”

“I suppose,” Damian said, straightening up the workstation with Tim before they left for the night.

On the way home, Damian looked over at his older brother and asked, “Tim?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“If Father showed up tomorrow, would _you_ go home?”

Tim smiled and responded, “In a heartbeat.”

\----

Kyla was pregnant.

Tim was pretty sure that’s what she said, but his head was spinning. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, his heart pumping, and all he felt was the numb shakiness of his limbs.

His head was spinning, the world was collapsing, he couldn’t breathe, and-

_Kyla was pregnant._

“I- I can’t,” he heard her choke out, between the sobs she’d started. Oh god. _Kyla._

Tim pulled her in out of reflex. Habit. Whenever someone he cared about was crying, this was the appropriate response. He wasn’t aware enough to think through his actions. All he could think about was _Kyla was pregnant._

“It’s my baby. _Our_ baby,” she cried into Tim’s shoulder, “I can’t.”

“Okay,” Tim breathed. He got it. No abortion. He would have never suggested it, anyway.

She wrapped her arms around Tim’s neck and buried her head into his shirt. Tim shifted to accommodate her weight and hugged her tighter.

After several long minutes of Kyla’s weeping, Tim was still in just as much shock as he had been when she first uttered those words. She pulled back and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “What am I gonna do?” she said between sniffles, “I have school, and a career, and you-” She cut herself off with another choked sound, collapsing back against Tim’s shoulder.

Tim was really glad they had sat on the couch to have this discussion. Even being asked to sit and seeing how uncomfortable and _scared_ Kyla was to tell him didn’t prepare him for this.

Kyla was scared.

 _Kyla_ was scared.

That thought woke him up a little. He was terrified, too, but this was a more immediate problem for her. This was going to change her life. Forever, if she kept the baby.

“I’ll help, Kyla,” Tim said, his voice not even convincing himself. He cleared his throat and tried to add a touch more confidence, “You aren’t in this alone.” How could he even promise that?

Kyla pulled away from Tim, as if his words had burned her, and screamed, “You’re leaving,” at him. “Oh god,” she said, jumping to her feet to run for the bathroom.

Tim wanted to follow her, but he was frozen in place. He was still reeling. Kyla was pregnant. It was his baby. He was leaving as soon as he possibly could to get back home. Back to his world.

How could they have been so stupid?

It wasn’t supposed to be serious. It was a casual relationship. It wasn’t permanent. It couldn’t be permanent. Bringing a baby into that kind of relationship was… was. So stupid.

Bruce would be so fucking disappointed in him. How many times, to Tim’s utter horror, had Bruce lectured him on this topic? Had Dick warned him about consequences of these sort of relationships? Mixing intimacy into a relationship brought it to a whole new level, and Tim shouldn’t have done it.

Now he’d ruined the life of the girl he cared about most in the world and created a child that was going to grow up fatherless.

What the hell was he going to do?

Tim forced himself to his feet and stumbled over to the bathroom, where Kyla was busy emptying the contents of her stomach. Carefully, he pulled her hair up and out of her face, taking it out of the hand she was using to clumsily hold it herself, and began stroking his hand through it to get every last strand.

It was so beautiful. Soft and curly brown locks, longer than Tim could ever imagine having hair. His hair got to be too much if he let it go much below his ears. He couldn’t imagine half way down his back. Once he had it all tamed and in one hand, he placed his other on her back and began rubbing circles on it.

“It’s okay, Kyla. We’ll figure this out,” he assured, waiting for her to finish. When she did, he got up and filled her a glass of water and let her compose herself. He assumed this was part of the whole newly-pregnant thing. He’d never read in-depth about pregnancy, but he knew nausea was a symptom.

Kyla pushed herself back against the wall and buried her head into her knees, so Tim took a seat next to her. The tile beneath them was cold against his bare feet, but Tim couldn’t bring himself to move his feet a few inches to the rug. He was finally coming back to his senses. Finally pulling his thoughts into order.

“My mom’ll kick me out,” Kyla whispered, not bothering to reveal her face for Tim. That was fine. He heard her just the same.

“You don’t know that. Maybe she’ll surprise you,” he said encouragingly. But they both knew it wasn’t true. Kyla’s Mom wasn’t the best mom on the planet. Not the worst, either. Not abusive, but she had very particular ideas about how marriage and relationships should work, and what she and Tim had been doing was definitely not how it was supposed to work. Plus, she still really disliked Tim, for whatever dumb reason.

Well, actually, this was probably the reason.

The girl turned her head so her cheek was resting on her knees and her eyes were visible. Her eyelashes clumped together from tears, and her face was red and splotchy. Even like this, she was still the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen.

“Tim,” she said, in a tone that asked he be realistic.

Yeah.

He frowned at her and wrapped an arm around her back.

“What am I going to do?” she asked pathetically, “I can’t afford-”

She interrupted herself one more as a sob threw her back into tremors, so Tim pulled her in tighter and rested his head against the back of her shoulder.

“Then-” he started, then hesitated while gained control of his own emotions, “Then move in with me. Us.”

“What,” she said, shifting a bit under Tim, “but we aren’t serious. I can’t just…” she trailed off, and Tim could feel her sigh just as he heard it.

“I think we threw that out the window,” he admitted, allowing a sad smile, “we’ve been serious for a while and have just been in denial.”

Kyla shook her head, “I can’t do this, Tim.”

“I don’t want the girl I-,” he swallowed, forcing down the tears welling, “the mother of my child to be homeless.”

When she didn’t respond, he added, “Just consider it.”

“But you aren’t permanent,” she protested, “You’re leaving.”

“Kyla, I don’t even know when that’ll be. It could be years before that happens.”

“You aren’t helping,” she cried, “That doesn’t make me feel better. That makes it so much worse. This isn’t- Life isn’t-” She shifted, forcing Tim to sit up, and rubbed at her face. “I’ve always wanted a family, a child, but not like this.” She took a deep breath and repeated, much quieter, “Not like this.”

Several long minutes passed, and Tim was insanely thankful that Damian was out of the house until late that night. He had no idea how he was going to share this news with him, and him walking in on them crying on the floor of the bathroom was definitely not how he wanted to do it.

Eventually, Kyla’s breathing evened out as she quit crying, and Tim pulled his thoughts together. It was still a lot. He had a lot of processing to do, and possible crying to do later when he was alone, but right now he had a handle on himself.

“I told Damian something years ago,” he began, his voice steady, “I told him that life happens around us whether we want it to or not, and we shouldn’t refuse to participate because we aren’t completely satisfied with how it’s working out.”

“I- I never really took my own advice,” he added, moving his hand to card through Kyla’s hair. “I don’t know how, but I won’t abandon you, Kyla. We’ll figure this out. You can always return home with me, you know.”

She nodded and curled into Tim’s side, apparently accepting that answer. Releasing her anger. For now, at least.

Tim wrapped her up in his arms and rested his head on hers. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair as he closed his eyes.

He had no idea how this was going to work, but he would see it through.

 _Kyla was pregnant,_ and he was going to be a dad.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back.

Maybe that’s all that mattered.

\----

“When are you due?” Tim asked several hours later, over a cup of soup he’d made. Kyla was hungry, but nauseated at the same time, so Tim tried his best to make something easy on her stomach while still filling. He’d had a horrible stomach bug as a kid that lasted so long he got hungry while still being nauseous and knew how terrible the feeling was.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, not looking up from her cup of broth, “I haven’t seen a doctor yet.”

“Do you have health insurance?” he asked as he ran calculations in his head. This was probably going to be very expensive, and Kyla didn’t make much money. She worked retail while in law school. The only reason she was able to afford Manhattan was because she’d been living with her mom.

“Yeah,” she replied, “through school. My mom kicked me off hers years ago. I cost too much.”

Tim scowled and asked, “Is it a good plan? Will it cover this sufficiently?”

Kyla shrugged and took a sip of her broth, “I don’t know,” she said, annoyed, “I never looked into how it covered pregnancy, Tim. Just doctor visits and prescriptions.”

“I can always add you to my policy. It has excellent coverage and decent copays. Plus, there’s a cap on how much the policy holder has to pay a year and no deductible.”

“Why do you know how well your plan covers pregnancy?”

“I read the entire brochure,” Tim said, shrugging, “I wanted to know what I was getting for Damian and myself.”

“But you’re both boys,” she protested, “that makes no sense.”

“The brochure didn’t know that.”

She rolled her eyes and took another sip. “How would you even add me, though? Don’t you have to be related to be on the same policy?”

Tim took a deep breath and looked away. “We’d have to get married.”

Kyla started laughing, which quickly turned into a cry. She covered her face with her hands, and Tim took her body language, how she was tense and closed off, to mean don’t touch her. Let her recover on her own.

“I don’t want to get married out of necessity,” she said bitterly, “This isn’t how-”

He hopped up and rounded the island to sit next to her. He gently took her hands into his and turned her to look at him. “Kyla,” he said, smiling sadly, “No matter what happens, what we decide, we’ll make it work.”

“Will you come with me?” she asked, from where she’d pushed herself into Tim’s chest, “to the doctor, I mean?”

“Of course. Anything you want.”

\----

Damian came home and seemed to notice the somber atmosphere as soon as he walked in, because he frowned and sent Tim a questioning gaze.

Tim just shook his head at his brother and continued rubbing Kyla’s shoulder where she’d fallen asleep against him on the couch.

When the teen turned the deadbolt, Kyla startled awake. “Oh shit,” she said, looking at the time, “I have to get home.”

“Do you want me to walk you?” Tim asked, uneasy about her taking the subway alone so late at night

“No, I’m good. I’ll take a taxi.” She stood and started slipping on her boots and winter gear. It was snowing outside.

“Okay,” Tim said, pulling her in for another hug and a quick kiss before she left, “I love you.”

She smiled and left, Tim shutting and locking the door behind her.

Damian raised an eyebrow when he turned to face the teen, then pulled out the kettle to boil some water. “I’ve never heard you say that to her,” he observed casually, keeping his focus on the burner he was turning on.

“Well,” Tim started, running a hand through his hair. He was so beat. He’d had way more emotions in the last several hours than he’d felt in months, combined. Which was probably an exaggeration, but he was exhausted, physically and mentally.

“Sit,” Damian said, pointing toward the island. “I’m making tea, would you like some?”

Tim did as he was told and nodded. Tea would be nice. He would have made Kyla tea, but he’d remember hearing that pregnant women shouldn’t drink caffeine.

God.

Kyla.

Pregnant.

How the hell was he going to get this out to Damian? His 15-year-old brother.

And shit. He’d invited her to live with them. Without running it by Damian. And if she did that, in less than a year, probably like 7 or 8 months, a baby was going to join the household.

A baby.

Their apartment was way too small for four people.

Tim rubbed at his face, then pulled at his hair. When it started to hurt, he let go and settled with burying his face in the counter.

The brat hummed some song Tim didn’t recognize as he busied himself pulling out a couple mugs to place the teabags in them.

After the tea was steeped and a cup placed in front of Tim, Damian sat across from him and said, “So.”

“So,” Tim repeated, sitting up to hold his tea.

Damian added some brown sugar to his tea and started stirring it. “Would you like to tell me or shall I guess?”

Tim let out a desperate laugh and shook his head. How the fuck was he going to tell him?

“Kyla is pregnant,” Damian said simply, taking a sip of his tea.

“How did you-”

“She has been experiencing morning sickness for a couple weeks, and during the last week her mood has turned sour,” Damian said easily, as if it were painfully obvious, “She has seemed devastated and scared. Based on your emotional state, I would assume she came clean tonight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tim asked, honestly more angry with himself for not putting together the pieces himself. If Damian had noticed, he definitely should have.

Damian took a sip of his tea and raised an eyebrow at Tim. “It was not my place, and I was not completely sure. It could have been another sickness, or nothing at all. I was not positive until I saw you two tonight.”

Tim let out a sigh and buried his head back in his arms. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“That is a lie,” Damian said sharply, “You do know what you’re going to do, you just don’t want to face it.”

“I’m going to make a terrible father,” Tim whined.

“You are not.”

“Why are you so calm?” Tim asked, sitting back up to drink his tea, “I thought you’d be angry with me.”

“What good would being angry do?” Damian asked, scowling. And wow. Damian rarely scowled at him anymore. “I assume you took high school health, the same as me. You already know where your error was. The action is done. Becoming angry about it will do nothing to solve the problem. The only thing I can do now is be supportive while you come to terms with the consequences.”

“I asked her to move in with us.”

“Prudent.”

Tim shot him a searching gaze and said, “You’re okay with that?”

Damian rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea. “Shes been living with us for months, Tim.”

“What?” he said, narrowing his eyes, “No, she hasn’t.”

“She’s been sleeping over 3-4 times a week every week,” he said evenly, waving his hand at the apartment, “Her stuff is everywhere. She lives here.”

Tim looked around the apartment, taking in the extra shoes sitting by the door, the jacket hanging up on the hooks, thought about the various articles of clothing stealing space in his closet, the tooth brush in the bathroom. The fact that she had a key now.

Damn.

“This means the baby will live with us,” Tim finally said, gaze fixed off in the distance.

The brat let out an annoyed breath and drawled, “Well, of course. Where else would he live?”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Timothy,” he exasperated, “whether I’m okay with it does not matter at this point. It’s already happening. My niece or nephew already exists and being a jerk about it won’t help anything. The real question is: will you be remaining here or will she be returning with us?”

Tim blinked and refocused his gaze on his brother. “I invited her to come with us.”

Damian relaxed, letting go of the tension in his shoulders Tim hadn’t noticed before, and nodded. “Good.”

“You know,” Tim mused a while later when they were both sitting on the couch watching a mindless cartoon, “When I said we should settle down like the Israelites, I didn’t mean literally.”

\----

Kyla’s mom did not kick her out, so Kyla decided to stay with her for a few more months. They both knew that Tim’s apartment was not large enough for a family of four, which was still a phrase Tim didn’t like thinking, so they decided to purchase a new apartment sometime in late winter or early spring and then move in together.

It was in early December, after Tim got home from one of Kyla’s appointments that the reality of everything finally, finally hit him. Kyla was due in late June.

Tim’s son or daughter would be born before he turned 22.

He was too damn young for this.

On top of all that, Kyla’s insurance only covered 65% of her medical bills, which meant the actual birth was going to kill them, and her mom had said she wasn’t going to help with the bills.

Tim’s insurance covered 95% of bills. All they had to do was get married, and he could add her and then the rest of the pregnancy, and eventually the baby, would be covered by his insurance.

It was just a piece of paper, he kept telling himself the entire subway ride home. Just a little piece of paper, nothing between him and Kyla changed, but he couldn’t quell the overwhelming panic that was building up in his chest.

He couldn’t do any of this. None of it. His life was _temporary_ and marriage was a very permanent thing.

Well, divorce was a thing, but Tim really hated the concept. Marriage _should_ be permanent, and he despised himself for screwing up his life so badly that he was entering into a marriage out of necessity instead of desire.

Tim stumbled into the apartment, barely getting his coat off and the door locked before he started hyperventilating.

“Tim?” Damian asked, startled from the couch where he was working on homework, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” he gasped out, shaking his head as he leaned over the counter, “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Damian said, approaching Tim from behind and placing a hand on his back.

“No,” Tim snapped, “I really can’t. A baby. A wife. I’m too young. I don’t know what I’m doing. I- I can’t.”

“It’ll be fine,” Damian soothed, taking a seat while he continued to rub at Tim’s back, “Just take a deep breath.”

“No, I’ll mess up. I’m not fit to be a father. I’ll screw up the kid.”

Damian patted at his back and said, “You’ve done fine with me.”

“You’re not my kid,” Tim snapped.

The brat huffed and opened his mouth to respond, but Tim cut him off.

“Plus,” Tim added hastily, “you can take care of yourself. All you need from me is my paycheck. A baby can’t do anything for himself.”

Damian removed his hand and scowled. “Is that all you think you are to me? A paycheck?”

When Tim didn’t respond, Damian continued in a pleading tone, “Tim, you have _raised_ me for five years.”

“I didn’t really do anything, though,” Tim said lamely.

“Tt,” Damian huffed, “You’ve cooked me meals. Made sure I had clothes and everything I needed. Made me get enough sleep. Paid attention to me when I needed it. Encouraged me to branch out and pursue my interests. You’ve stayed up with me watching _Teen Titans Go!_ when I had nightmares. You’ve attended every single one of my performances, despite your hatred of musical theater. You honestly think that’s doing ‘nothing?’ You’re one of the first persons in my life to care enough to-” Damian cut off abruptly, shaking his head at Tim, his face pinched up.

“Damian,” Tim said tiredly.

“But fine,” he said, throwing his hands up, “I’m not your kid.”

Tim grabbed the kid’s sleeve and tugged on him before he could retreat and said, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Damian collapsed into Tim’s embrace and said into his hoody, “You’re going to make a great dad, Tim. Stop doubting yourself.”

\----

More than anything, Tim wanted to talk to Bruce. He and Kyla had decided to elope, a decision that was hard on both of them. Tim had never really envisioned marriage as part of his future, but if he did ever get married he didn’t want it to be so informal. Kyla had dreamed of a big wedding wearing a beautiful dress.

So, when they had decided to get married, they didn’t speak again for a full 24 hours.

It wasn’t healthy, Tim was pretty sure, for a relationship.

That’s why he wanted to talk to his dad. Advice is what dads were for, and while Bruce didn’t have experience in the marriage thing, he was sure the man would have words of wisdom for Tim.

Then again, if Bruce were in his life, he and Kyla wouldn’t need to get married, because Bruce Wayne would just pay for all of Kyla’s medical bills, likely even providing a private doctor.

“Hey Paul,” Tim said, entering his boss’s office. It’d been a while since he needed the man’s advice and guidance, but he wasn’t a stranger to chatting with the man. He had really played the role of mentor in his life for the past several years, so he was the logical next-best choice to Bruce.

“What’s up, Tim?” the man asked, setting down his work when he noticed Tim shutting the door and closing the blinds.

Tim sat down heavily in the seat across from his boss and sighed before he finally said, “I got my girlfriend pregnant.”

At that, Paul sat forward, his eyes wide as he stared at Tim for a good few seconds.

“I don’t-” Tim said, then stopped as he sat back into the corner of the chair, pulling a leg up to rest his hands on, “We uh-” he said, clearing his throat, “we decided to elope. So I could add her to my health insurance.”

“Oh, Tim,” Paul said gently.

Tim scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve and said, “I’m an idiot.”

“Making a mistake does not make you an idiot,” Paul said, sighing, “I’ve had this conversation with teenagers about half a dozen times, you know? I’ve told you I’m a youth pastor, right?”

Tim nodded and crossed his arms.  "But I knew better. I _know_ better. And I was still stupid."  

“I know we disagree on religion and come from entirely different worldviews because of it, but I honestly believe that everything in life happens for a reason, even if we can’t see the reason.”

“The reason is I’m a dumbfuck who didn’t use protection.”

“Tim,” the man admonished, “however this child came into existence, they exist now.”

“I know,” Tim sighed, “I know that. The kid’s mine. I’m going to be a dad. We’re going to buy a new apartment, Kyla, my soon-to-be-wife will move in with me, and the baby will arrive in June. I get all that. I’m not running away from it. I- I don’t even know what I want you to say. I just-” needed a dad to talk to, so I came to the closest thing I had.

“You’re scared,” Paul pointed out, his eyes kind as he smiled sadly.

“I wish my dad were here,” he said, finally allowing the tears he’d been fighting back to escape, “Why do I have to be here without him?”

Paul moved to the seat next to Tim and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know, son, but I have faith that you’ll get through this. Just remember I’m here, okay? Laura is here for you, too. You have a support system, so don’t worry so much. Everything will work out.”

\----

They eloped the first week of January. Kyla chose to take Tim’s fake last name, simply because she didn’t like having her father’s name, considering she’d not seen the man since she was 2. And no, he wasn’t dead. She’d Facebook stalked him.

That was another thing Tim was having a hard time with. His kid wouldn’t be named Drake or Wayne, but Wagner. He figured that when they moved back to his universe, they could change their names to Drake-Wayne or just Wayne. Or maybe Drake? Probably Wayne.

In February, they began apartment hunting. Damian tagged along when he could, but he was often too busy. He expressed his desires to remain in Midtown and have a place where the baby’s room was far away from his.

Tim had thought that last request would be impossible to grant, but when they saw a 1.5m three-bedroom apartment just four blocks from their current building, he fell in love immediately.

The place had once been two separate apartments combined into one, which meant the master bedroom was one on side of the apartment while the two additional bedrooms were on the other. The master was huge, though, and separated into two rooms, a massive closet, and a private bathroom. It was amazing. The current owner had the second room set up as an office, but Tim and Kyla saw the potential it had as a nursery.

That would leave the third bedroom empty for use as a guest room or office, and it meant Damian would be on the exact opposite side of the apartment as the baby. Hopefully his sleep wouldn’t be disrupted as often as Tim’s.

They put an offer down on the apartment and closed in late February. Their apartment sold just as quickly, meaning the first week of March they moved over.

Jordan, Kyla’s mom, and Paul and his family all came to help set it up, and over the course of a weekend the entire place was unpacked and ready for them to live in. Even the nursery was painted and furnished.

"Compared to our last place, this apartment is nice," Damian said, grinning widely when the three of them were finally alone in the fully furnished apartment.  

Tim nodded enthusiastically and pointed toward the dining area, "We have an actual dining table.  Not just a counter."

"I'm going to miss that island," Damian said, walking over to the couch to sit down.

"So what do you think, Kyla?" Tim asked, wrapping an arm around his wife.  Still a strange thought.  

The girl nodded and offered a smile toward Tim.  "It's great. I'm exhausted though, I think I'm going to take a nap."  

"Okay," Tim said, offering her a kiss on the cheek before she freed herself from his arms to head toward their bedroom.

"Is she okay?" Damian asked once Kyla was out of earshot. 

"Yeah, she's just tired a lot. Think it's the baby."  

Damian frowned at Tim for a minute, before turning on the television.  "Perhaps."  

\----

In April, Tim and Damian were back in the lab working on the fifth prototype of the portal when finally, finally something interesting happened.

The 16-year-old had spent an hour rewiring the contraption, completely disregarding the blueprints they’d painstakingly drawn up, and hit power without his normal theatrics. When the device sparked and let out a loud crackling sound, Tim jumped and looked over.

“What’d you do?” he demanded. The brat wasn’t supposed to test without warning Tim.

“Did you see that,” Damian exclaimed, “it worked for a split second!”

Tim dropped his notes and said, “What?”

Damian pressed the button again, but this time nothing happened. “It blew the fuse,” he said, inspecting the prototype. Once he replaced the fuses, they tried the device again and…

It worked.

Only briefly, but Tim could clearly see the portal open. A bright blue light was visible inside the ring, and if they could just figure out how to keep the fuse from blowing so they could keep it open longer, they could begin experimenting with the portal itself.

“Oh my god, Damian,” Tim said, giving Damian a hug, “you did it.”

“We did it, you imbecile,” Damian said, smiling widely as he returned the embrace, “we’re so close.”

\----

On April 27th, right in the middle of the night, Kyla woke Tim in a panicked state.

“Tim,” she whispered harshly, “Tim wake up.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked groggily as he sat up and looked at the clock. 3am.

“My water broke,” she said, the panic in her voice evident now that Tim was awake.

Tim blinked. “What? But you’re not due for two more months.”

“We have to go to the hospital,” she said as tears filled her eyes, “the baby’s not old enough.”

“Okay,” Tim said, hopping up, “Pack your bag. I’ll get Damian.”

Half an hour later, the three of them arrived at the ER, Kyla prepared for a hospital stay. They had both done enough research on pregnancy and all the possible complications to know that she’d likely be admitted until the baby was born.

As anticipated, she was admitted almost immediately because she showed too many signs of labor and she was placed on antibiotics and steroids to help protect the baby. The doctors were doing everything in their power to prevent a premature birth.

Later that morning, Tim sat on the stool next to Kyla's bed, flipping through the options on Netflix with her while they tried to pick something to watch.  Damian was asleep in the armchair, catching up on the hours of sleep he'd been robbed of when this whole nightmare began.  

"Have you been thinking about names?" Kyla asked abruptly, half way through an episode of  _The Office._

"Yeah, kind of," Tim responded, pausing the laptop they were using, "but all I've come up with are names I  _don't_ want to use."  

"Like?" Kyla asked with a slight twitch of her lips, the closest thing to smiling she'd gotten since waking Tim up all those hours ago.  

"Well, if the name can be shortened down to something inappropriate, I don't like it."

At that, Kyla fully smiled and said, "So we won't be naming the kid after your brother, Richard?"

"God no. I don't really want to name the baby after any of my family, anyway. Your family, maybe?"

She shrugged and sat back against her pillow. "Perhaps for a middle name. There's some good names in my grandparents' generation."  

"What about for the first name?" 

"Well there's this one name that I've heard you mention a few times when talking about your world."

"Yeah?" Tim asked, raising an eyebrow. He really didn't want to name the kid after one of his family members whom he'd seen again one day. Not because it would be embarrassing, although it kind of would be, but he couldn't imaging picking one of them over the others. Maybe he'd be cool with using Thomas or Martha, but he wasn't really a fan of either of those names, and Bruce's parents were always such a dark, depressing presence in their lives due to the horrific trauma their death inflicted on Bruce. Tim didn't want his child to be associated with something so painful.  

"Yeah," she replied, "I think you'll like it."  

Tim spent the next day with Kyla in the hospital, sleeping on the couch in the room. Damian came and went as he pleased, giving the couple plenty of alone time when he went to school.

Despite the doctor's best efforts, however, at 4pm on the 29th, Kyla gave birth. The baby was only 2.5lbs.

Tim witnessed the delivery, but wasn't allowed to hold the child or even cut the cord. Kyla was given a quick glimpse of the baby before the doctors wished the infant off to the intensive care unit.  

It wasn't until that moment, when he saw his child for the first time, did Tim realize what true fear was.  

"High survival rate," one nurse said.

Tim had been scared before, but never had he felt this terrified. All he could do was hold Kyla's hand while she cried.  

"You'll get to see your little one very soon," a doctor assured once they wheeled Kyla back to her room.

There, Tim sat with her on the bed, the two of them silent as they tried not to think about everything that could go wrong with a premature birth. Even with a high survival rate for babies born at 28-weeks, Tim and Kyla's child wasn't able to breath unassisted.  Feeding had to be done through a tube, and the child had to remain in an incubator.  

It was terrifying to see.  

Kyla couldn't spend more than 10 minutes in the NICU before she decided she had to leave, so Tim sat with her in her room until she fell asleep. He left Damian with her as he went to visit the baby again.

That evening while Kyla slept, the 21-year-old sat beside the baby in the NICU, his hand stroking his daughter’s cheek while he watched her breathe with the help of a machine.


	26. Dick

Dick was skeptical when Bruce called, eager to pick back up the investigation on where the boys had been ‘teleported,’ but he had learned his lesson from dismissing Tim’s theory as a grief-induced dream.

If Bruce thought the boys weren’t dead, but in an alternate dimension, Dick should hear him out. Not get his hopes up, of course, but hear him out.

It was time they called in the league, though. Dick didn’t care whether Bruce wanted to keep it in the family anymore. Even if Bruce was wrong and the boys were dead, having Superman around would help contain the fallout. Maybe. Because Bruce had always been so open about his grief with his best friend in the past…

Dick had his phone call Jason on his way to the cave. The jerk didn’t answer the first two times Dick called, letting it ring until voice mail. On the third try, however, Jason picked up with an angry, “ _the fuck do you want?_ ” In the background, Dick could hear the chatter of dozens of people, all too far away or speaking too softly for Dick to pick out individual words. The droning of a television could be heard, as well.

“Jason,” Dick said evenly, ignoring the growl he’d elicited from his younger brother, “Bruce thinks the gun was a teleporter and transported the boys to an alternate dimension.”

“ _Well that’s awfully convenient_ ,” Jason drawled, then shouted, not even bothering to pull the phone from his face, “ _Hey, change the fucking channel. I’m sick of listening to this slander_.”

“Where are you?” Dick asked, cringing at the sound reverberating through his helmet.

Jason scoffed at the phone and said, “ _Who are you? My mother? I don’t answer to you,_ dearest brother _. Now leave me alone, Dickface_.”

The venom in Jason's voice would normally hurt Dick, but he was well aware that's what the teenager was going for, and Dick wasn't going to fall for it.  

“Jay-” Dick said, just to be cut off by the clicking of the line, “Dammit. Redial.”

“ _Listen, Dickface-_ ” Jason said, answering the phone in the middle of the first ring.

“Jason, please,” Dick begged, not at all ashamed of stooping to such levels, “I called in the Justice League. Clark and Barry are coming for sure. Bruce is going to be pissed at me. I need someone else there on my side. Can you and Roy please come back?”

“ _You want me in the same room as Mr. Boy Scout Captain America himself?_ ” Jason deadpanned, “ _while I’m heavily intoxicated_?”

“First off,” Dick said, slowing his bike to stop at the first light off the interstate, just outside Gotham, “you are not ‘heavily intoxicated,’ considering you just said ‘intoxicated,’ and not ‘shitfaced.’ Second.”

“ _Fuck you, you don’t know my life._ ”

“Second,” Dick repeated, impatiently, “Superman really doesn’t care. He knows who you are. If he wanted to do something about you, he’d have done it already.”

“ _Spandex knows who I am? Who fucking told him_?” Jason bellowed, the sounds of the bar, Dick assumed, petering out. “ _I swear to God, if B went telling all his fucking ‘friends’ about me just to-_ ”

“No one told him,” Dick exclaimed, becoming exasperated, “Just come to the-”

“ _Then how does he know?_ ” Jason screamed, and yep. Dick could hear the drunk, now.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” Dick snapped, “You hang out with Arsenal, and everyone knows Arsenal was best friends with you. Bruce is all moody when you’re the topic of conversation and it’s obvious to the entire world there’s some sort of personal connection. So yeah, it’s not that big of a leap for the superhero community to realize that the Red Hood is Batman’s son.”

“ _I’m not his-_ ”

“Oh my god, we aren’t doing this. Come to the damn cave, Jason. I need you there.”

Jason huffed an annoyed breath, then started his motorcycle.

“Oh no, don’t you dare get on your bike. I will come kick your ass if you drive drunk.”

Dick heard the sound of Jason’s bike being shut off and kicked over. “ _Fine,_ ” he snarled, “ _I’ll uber over to Roy’s and he’ll drive us. Are you happy? God_.”

“More than I’d be if I had to bury all three of my brothers this week,” Dick muttered, assuming the call had already ended.

“ _That was a low fucking blow_ ,” Jason said, cutting the line with a click.

\----

When Dick arrived at the cave, Superman, Flash, and Cyborg were already there, standing beside a very annoyed Bruce Wayne.

“I called Jason and Roy,” Dick said in greeting, ignoring the withering glare his mentor was shooting his way, “They’ll be here soon. Thanks for coming, you guys. We were in a bit over our heads with the possibility of multiversal travel being involved.”

“Glad to help, Nightwing,” Superman said cheerfully, clearly choosing to ignore Bruce’s mood. That was probably the best way to handle moody Bruce, after all.

“Well I can’t say you’re wrong,” Cyborg piped up, inspecting the gun, “This is some pretty high tech. I’ve never seen a transporter quite like this.”

Dick raised an eyebrow while Bruce’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “So, it is a transporter,” Dick asked cautiously, still afraid to get his hopes up. He wasn’t sure he could handle another breakdown, fresh grief. He was barely keeping himself together as it was.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” the man said, plugging into the device to get a good reading on it, “whether it’s a safe method of travel between universes, though? Can’t tell ya.”

Nodding, Bruce turned to the computer and began pulling up schematics on the weapon. “Then we need to test it. Can you figure out where it’s sending things, so we can use a trusted portal to get there?”

“That will be a bit more difficult. As far as I can tell, it only sends things one place, but I can’t get a good read on where that is. It’s not coded in anywhere. This is actually… very strange tech.”

“Alien?” Flash asked, zipping across the room to look at the gun up close, “Cool.”

“No,” Superman piped up, “it doesn’t look alien.”

“I’d guess it’s from Earth,” Cyborg agreed, “But we don’t have this kind of technology yet.”

“Maybe it’s not from this Earth,” Dick said, “maybe it’s from the Earth where the boys were sent.”

Bruce pointed a finger at Dick and started nodding his head. “That would make sense.”

“It could be from any universe,” Flash added, “there are an infinite number.”

Superman rubbed his face and walked over to stand next to Bruce, looking up at the schematics. “Let’s figure out which one the boys were sent to,” he said, clearly speed reading Bruce’s notes.

\----

When Jason arrived, he made sure to make as big a scene as possible. That much was clear. Brandishing his guns was completely unnecessary, in Dick’s opinion, but at least the guy had come.

“That’s the Red Hood. The Red Hood is here, in the batcave, and no one is panicking,” Flash mumbled as Jason dramatically stalked over to the group, Roy following close behind, “Right. This is actually happening.”

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Dick said, hoping to soften the arrival of the two anti-heroes.

“Yeah, whatever. Are the boys dead or not?” Jason said, pulling his helmet off once he reached the table they were gathered around.

“Not,” Bruce said decidedly, not bothering to look up from his inspection of the code Cyborg had pulled.

“Great. Then what’s the extraction plan?” Jason asked, his attitude starting to smooth over slightly, the scowl on his face lessening. Dick hoped his BAC had dropped, as well. Perhaps he should get Alfred to make them some snacks.

“Under development,” Bruce answered shortly, and as if on cue, Alfred entered the cave.

“Ah, Master Jason,” Alfred said, approaching Jason first and offering a sandwich from his tray and a glass of water, “I do hope you did not drive here yourself.”

“Course not,” Roy piped up, startling everyone who had forgotten he was there, “Like I’d let him do that.”

“Indeed, thank you, Mister Harper,” Alfred said as he offered the sandwiches to everyone in the room.

“Jason Todd. Right,” Flash said, taking three sandwiches from the tray, “this night just keeps getting weirder.”

Everyone ignored the speedster in favor of the topic at hand. Dick, for one, was eager to create the extraction plan. Hopefully between the seven of them, they could figure out which universe the boys were in and just pop on over and retrieve them. No big deal. If they couldn’t figure it out, Babs would be back from her trip in a couple days and would be able to help them, then. Or they could escalate the problem to the rest of the League.

Regardless of what they had to do, the boys were coming home. Very soon.

“Okay,” Jason piped up after Bruce had gone over everything they knew, “So we have these magic little wrist dodads that will open a portal for us and let us travel between worlds.” When everyone nodded at him, he continued, “Why aren’t we just shooting ourselves with the portal gun, getting the boys, and coming back using the wrist dohickies?”

Dick stuttered for a second. That was… actually a really good idea. The gun was sure to send them to where the boys were, and the watches knew which universe was their home, so it wouldn’t actually be difficult to do that.

But then the logical side of his brain took over. “We don’t even know what effect the gun has on people,” he said, frowning. Because for all they knew the journey killed its passengers and sending anyone through could be a death sentence.

“Agreed,” Bruce said, nodding, “Until we know what effects the transporter has, we will not be using it as a means of travel. Our best bet is to locate the universe to which it is sending objects and set our watches to take us there.”

“Fine,” Jason huffed, “but I get to shoot the shit.”

 ----

Three hours. Three hours of ‘shooting shit,’ as Jason kept insisting they all call it, and they were no closer to figuring out where the hell it was sending things. Each time they thought they had a good read on the other universe, it wound up being wrong.

Not just wrong, but a completely invalid coordinate for another universe.

It was maddening.

“This is ridiculous,” Jason exasperated, storming off to the gym mats to start kicking at a practice dummy.

Roy sighed and turned toward his friend. “Take five?” he asked no one in particular, following Jason over.

“Maybe we need to go back to the theory of just shooting someone through with one of our teleporters,” Flash said wearily.

“Absolutely not,” Bruce snapped.

“We could send me,” Superman offered, “I’m most likely to survive the journey. It’s really not even that big a risk. I can just zap over, get a reading, and come back for the extraction team to deploy.”

“No,” Bruce growled, “We aren’t risking anyone, Clark.”

Dick sighed. “We can figure this out. I know we can. What if we strapped one of the devices to a monitor and set it to teleport back to our universe in 15 minutes, then send that over? Perhaps we can get a reading that way?”

“That’s possible,” Cyborg said, nodding his head while he inspected one of the wrist devices, “but we’d have to modify this first to do a timed teleport. They aren’t programmed to do that normally.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, rubbing at his face for a long moment. “Okay. Cyborg, modify the teleporter. Arsenal can help you. Dick, I need you to build the monitor. The rest of you, help Dick figure out what all-”

A flash of light illuminated the cave, temporarily blinding the occupants while the zapping of the teleporter could be heard.

“Oopsie Daisy,” Roy said just as the sound petered out.

“Boys,” Bruce bellowed before anyone had even processed what happened, “it is not a toy to be played with.” When Bruce, and everyone else, turned to glare at Jason and Roy, however, they all froze.

“Where’s Jason?” Dick demanded, searching everywhere for the teenager with his eyes. He had _just_ been on the practice mats.

“Uh,” Roy spluttered, “heh. About that. Funny story.”

“Where is my son,” Bruce growled, storming over to where Roy stood, the teleporter gun in one hand while the other was held up in a surrender.

“Well,” Roy half laughed, eyeing Batman nervously as the larger man approached, “you see…”

“Roy,” Dick said tiredly, “what have you done?”

“It was Jaybird’s idea. Swear.”

Bruce stood motionless, looming over Roy for several long, tense seconds. Then he turned with a growl and threw one of the practice dummies to the ground. “Cyborg,” he ground out, “modify that device now. Dick, create the monitor. We have three missing Robins to retrieve.”


	27. Six Years

_Bristol Anne Wagner._

Tim repeated his daughter’s name in his head over and over while he watched her simply exist in her incubator.

The baby was four days old, and Tim already had no idea how he’d lived his life without Bristol Anne Wagner.

He couldn’t fathom how a father could ever walk away from his child. How Tim’s father could ever just walk off and leave him all alone back home to fend for himself, because Bristol was four days old and Tim never wanted to let her out of his sight ever again.

He’d die for that child, and he didn’t even know her yet. He hadn’t even _held_ her yet. She wasn’t old enough to speak. To have opinions. To really do anything beyond basic body functions, and even then, she needed the help of machines. All she could do was lay there.

All the same, Tim loved Bristol with all his heart.

And that terrified him.

“I’ve been reading,” Damian said, leg draped over the arm of the chair he was sitting in against the wall. Kyla had gone back to her room, citing the need for a nap, leaving just Tim and Damian in the NICU with a couple other pairs of parents keeping watch over their own infants.

“Yeah?” Tim asked, not even looking up from his daughter’s face.

“Yes. Very premature babies have a 95% survival rate, and since Bristol was born later into her 28th week, she has an even higher chance to survive. Also, her eyes are developed enough that she can see, but they are very sensitive to light so that is why she is not looking around. Here within a week or two she will be able to regulate temperature, as well, meaning the doctors will be able to remove her from the incubator to allow us to hold her. Also-”

“You really have been doing reading,” Tim cut in with a quiet laugh, “That’s pretty much what the doctors told us.”

Damian nodded and shifted a bit in his seat. “So there is no reason to be worried. She will be in the hospital for a few months, but she will be fine.”

“I’m not worried about-” Tim started, realizing mid-sentence he didn’t want to vocalize even the slight chance his daughter could die. Frowning, Tim continued, “about that. It’s the complications being born early can cause her.”

“You and Kyla are two of the smartest, strongest people I know,” Damian said simply, as if the comment were nothing. As if he were merely stating a fact. “It is highly unlikely your offspring did not inherit those traits from you two.”

Tim stroked his finger down the bridge of Bristol’s nose as he huffed out a silent laugh.

Damian sat up and crossed his legs in the chair, drawing Tim’s attention with the movement. “Any complications she develops, which, according to my research, it’s possible she’ll have none, I’m more than positive she will overcome.”

Smiling now, Tim said, “You’re my favorite, you know that?”

“I think that title belongs to that one right there, actually,” Damian said with a knowing smile.

“She’s my favorite daughter. You’re my favorite little brother.”

\----

It took a week for Bristol to finally be approved for kangaroo care.

Tim had already done a ton of research on what to expect during the baby’s stay in the hospital, so he had been anticipating being able to finally hold Bristol. He just hadn’t been anticipating Kyla being reluctant.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, holding her hands up to prevent the nurse from placing Bristol on her chest, “I can’t. She’s- No. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Tim asked, kneeling down next to where Kyla was sitting, “you won’t hurt her. The skin-to-skin contact will actually help her.”

“ _Tim_ , I can’t,” she whispered harshly, a touch desperately, “I can’t. I just… I can’t.”

“That’s okay, honey,” the nurse said sweetly, “it’s scary holding a preemie for the first time. What about you, Dad? Do you want to hold Bristol?”

“Me?” Tim asked dumbly. The nurses had been referring to him as “Dad” ever since Bristol’s birth, but it still startled him every time.

When the nurse just smiled sweetly, still holding Bristol in her arms, Tim nodded and sat down in the seat Kyla vacated.

“Okay, dear, just unbutton your shirt and we’ll put Bristol down on your chest.”

Tim did as he was told and held his breath as the nurse placed his daughter on his chest. Gingerly, he placed his hands on the infant’s back and marveled down at how tiny and precious his little girl was.

Kyla knelt beside him and hesitantly reached her hand out for Bristol, so Tim took her hand and placed it on the baby’s back. They sat there for several long, quiet moments, each of them simply observing the little girl sleep and Tim realized something.

He was so glad he’d been stranded in this universe.

\----

“I think I figured out the power issue,” Damian said over coffee one day in mid-May. Tim had taken him out because they’d rarely seen each other since Bristol’s birth. Damian kept his busy schedule, and Tim tried his best to fit in his classes, lab work, and actual work around visiting the baby and spending time with Kyla.

Actually, Tim was exhausted, so a nice, quiet afternoon with his little brother was exactly what he needed.

Tim took a sip of his coffee, savoring the flavor of the well-roasted blend. “Really? Come back to the lab sometime and we can work on it.”

The 16-year-old nodded and took a sip of his own coffee, and it struck Tim just how much Damian had grown up. He noticed it a lot, actually, but just the image of his bratty little brother drinking coffee with him really sent it home.

Damian was taller than him, by a good six inches, and would likely still grow an inch or two according to the doctor. Tim had grown an inch and a half after his 17th birthday, after all.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asked when Damian frowned.

After a long, careful moment of thought, Damian asked, “Is going home still a priority?”

Tim smiled easily. “Course it is, kiddo. If we get the portal working and figure it out, you can go home whenever. I’ll just have to wait for Bristol to get strong enough to make it through, but then I’ll join you. Okay?”

“I’d rather wait with you,” Damian said sheepishly, “if that’s okay.”

With a grin, Tim took another sip of his coffee before saying, “Love you too, Demon.”

“Besides,” Damian said, returning the smile, “I’d like to finish my show. Have I told you about the part I just auditioned for?”

“No, you haven’t.”

\----

Tim spent the evening one day in late May finishing up a report for his professor. The man wanted an update on his project. The actual paper had been due back at the end of the semester, but the professor pushed back the due date after Bristol’s early arrival threw a wrench in everyone’s plans.

Actually, Bristol being born so early really did mess a lot of things up. She was supposed to be born in the middle of summer, allowing all three of them to have slowed down schedules for the first couple months of her life, but they were making it work so Tim didn’t see any use in brooding over her untimely arrival.

“All you ever do is work on that damn computer,” Kyla grumbled as she walked past Tim to the kitchen.

“What?” Tim asked, startled by the anger in her voice. What had he even done? Nothing. He’d done nothing.

“Nothing,” she said flippantly as she dug through the fridge for a cup of yogurt, “keep typing away. I know that’s the most important thing you do.”

Tim shut his laptop and spun around in the desk chair to stare at Kyla. “What the fuck?” he said evenly, trying his best to keep all anger out of his voice. More than anything he was just confused.

The girl rolled her eyes and stalked over to the couch to eat her yogurt in the most passive aggressive manner Tim had ever seen. If Damian had been good at angrily eating food when he was younger, Kyla was a master at it.

“Kyla, _what’s wrong,_ ” Tim pleaded as he joined her on the couch. He was tired of this. He was tired of her moods. Tired of every little thing he did setting her off. Walking on eggshells in his own house. They couldn’t keep going like this.

Something was clearly bothering Kyla, and Tim needed to know what it was so he could fix it.

If he could just fix it…

“Nothing is wrong,” she snapped, “nothing at all.”

Tim closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can see that,” he said dryly.

“Shut up,” she shouted, “you’re not even around enough _to_ notice, so just shut up.”

“Are you really mad because I’m _busy?”_ he demanded, _“_ Because I’ve been busy as long as you’ve known me. Why’d you even marry me if you had a problem with me being busy?”

“Because I had a fucking choice?” she shouted, glaring right at Tim, who just sat back and furrowed his brows.

Sure. It had been something that was thrust upon them, something they did out of necessity, but he thought he’d been clear that he wouldn’t _force_ her into marriage. He didn’t really want it, either, but saw the benefits. He’s glad they did, because the NICU bills would have been terrible otherwise.

“Are you not happy?” Tim asked, unsure of what else to say. What else to ask. He hated fighting. Hated arguing. Didn’t want to be doing it at all. He was just glad Bristol was at the hospital and not old enough for this to affect her.

“Of course, I’m happy,” she snapped, “Why wouldn’t I be happy? Get to drop out of school to take care of a baby, just what I’ve always wanted. Went through all this work to get into law school just to be a mom! Dream. Come. true.”

Tim rubbed at his face. What had he gotten himself into? “I thought you were going to continue with school in September?” Tim asked, honestly completely lost by her train of thought, because they had talked about this. Had an entire discussion about her career goals. She was going to continue with school. Bristol would have been two-months-old by the time school started in September, so they would have been able to put her in daycare. Now, though, with the early birth, she’ll be four-months old and be plenty old enough.

“It’s not about this fall, it’s about this summer! What about my internship? What about that? I can’t work if I have to visit a sick baby in the hospital every day, and then take the sick baby home and take care of her every single minute of every day until school finally starts back up.”

“Kyla-”

“ _No,_ you don’t get it,” she hissed, “I wanted to be a lawyer, but now I’m just gonna be a mother. For the rest of my life, a _mother._ ”

“Kyla, is that really-”

“This is your fault,” she interrupted, “had I never met you, had we never started dating, this wouldn’t be a problem. I wouldn’t be- I wouldn’t-”

Tim caught her as she broke down crying, pulling her close to him and stroking her hair as she wept. This entire time, Kyla had been struggling with how much she didn’t want to be a mother.

_“I’ve always wanted a family, a child, but not like this. Not like this.”_

He should have realized. Kyla had flat out told him that first night that she didn’t want this. He should have realized and should have been talking it out with her, figuring it out, smoothing over her worries and doubts just as he was having his worries and doubts soothed.

Instead, Tim had been selfish. He only thought about himself. About Damian. About how having a baby would affect _them._ He hadn’t given Kyla enough thought.

“I love you, Ky,” Tim whispered, hugging his wife a bit tighter, “so much. And I love Bristol and I _know_ you love her, too.”

“I do,” she said back, “so much it scares me.”

Tim smiled. “And yes, you’re going to be a mother for the rest of your life, but that doesn’t mean you can’t also be a lawyer.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re the father. You’re expected to-”

“We aren’t talking about what anyone _expects,_ Kyla. We’re talking about what _you can do._ And if you want to be a lawyer, you can be a lawyer. If you want to work an internship this summer, then take an internship. No one said you have to be the one staying home with Bristol. I can do it.”

“But you have work,” she protested, pulling away from Tim’s embrace, “and we need your paycheck. You kind of pay all the bills.”

Tim pulled her back into his side and kissed the top of her head. “I’ve teleworked before, I can telework again. We won’t lose my paycheck.”

“Maybe,” she whispered.

\----

“If you two were arguing about money,” Damian said in the lab that week while the two of them worked on the portal.

Tim cut in quickly with a, “We weren’t arguing about money,” kind of annoyed with himself that Damian had even _heard_ one of their little arguments. He hated it. So much. Tim’s parents argued all the time when he was a child, and he had so many bad memories of listening to them yell back and forth. Tim had never once raised his voice with Kyla, but apparently, he didn’t have to for it to carry over to Damian’s room.

“But if you were-”

“We weren’t,” Tim insisted.

“Timothy,” Damian snapped, “let me finish.”

“Fine,” Tim said, holding his hand out as he mock bowed to the kid, “please continue.”

“ _If_ you two were arguing about money, you don’t have to. I’ll be making a decent paycheck with my next show.”

Tim paused and raised an eyebrow at the teen. “Did you get the part?”

Damian’s face absolutely lit up when Tim finally caught on to what he was trying to share and grinned widely. “I did. I’ll be playing _Aladdin_ at a professional theater.”

“That’s amazing, kiddo.”

“Yes,” he beamed, “and my school has agreed to let me do it, too, since I’d have to miss some school for rehearsals, but as long as my grades don’t drop and all the labor laws are followed they’re letting me skip class as needed. I’m going to take my finals early, too. And I’ll be making $30 an hour with a guaranteed at least 20 hours a week.”

“Dang,” Tim said, blinking. He wasn’t aware that theater actors not on Broadway made so much. Especially not teenage actors. “That’s a lot for a 16-year-old.”

“Oh, shut up,” Damian said, picking up a screwdriver to pull apart the portal for their next modification, “You were making more than this at 15.”

Tim grabbed their notes and spread them out on the table next to Damian. “Yeah but I was a CEO, and I only had that job because my dad owned the company. You’ve _earned_ this entirely on your own merit. I’m proud of you, bud.”

“Thanks,” Damian got the backing popped off then paused to look at Tim, “and if you don’t think you were a damn good CEO, then you’re delusional. You’ve earned everything you’ve ever had, too.”

“God, I love you. I’m not sharing you with Dick when we get back. You’re mine now.”

That caused the little… big? brat to laugh as he refocused his attention. “Anyway, my point was if you need help with bills, I can help.”

“Nu uh, no way. I’m the adult, you’re the kid. I pay the bills, you buy video games and candy and save for a car or college or a spaceship or something. I don’t know, but I’m not taking your money.”

Damian looked up and raised an eyebrow at his older brother. “Save it? What for? We’re so close to going home, Tim, and I can’t take it with me.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Tim trailed off. He really didn’t have a good argument against that. “Still. It’s _my_ job to take care of _you._ So I’m not taking your money. Spend it on cool stuff you want.”

“What if I think electricity and water is cool and want to spend my money on that?”

“Fine,” Tim said, rolling his eyes, “ _If_ we ever get to the point where we can’t cover a bill, I’ll let ya know. Deal?”

Damian shrugged. “Good enough.”

\----

On June 29th, exactly two months after her birth, Bristol was released from the hospital.

It was the happiest day of Tim’s life.

Tim and Kyla were absolutely ecstatic about it. It hadn’t looked like she would be well enough by her original due date, but she’d shocked everyone with a sudden, quick improvement in her last few weeks. She was finally eating on her own, didn’t need oxygen, and no longer just stopped breathing entirely randomly, something that absolutely terrified Tim regardless of how much he read about it and how often he was assured it was normal.

Bristol Anne Wagner was tiny. Teeny Tiny, but the doctors said she was now the size of an average newborn, and since both Kyla and Tim were on the shorter side, their children were going to be small.

But she was so small it looked like the car seat carrier they bought her for the car ride home swallowed her right up.

“It’s so WASP of you to name her Bristol,” Jordan commented as he helped figure out how to get the car seat situated in the backseat of his car.

“Now you’re just being racist. Against a baby, too,” Tim said as he finished tightening the seatbelt across the base of the car seat.

“Nah, man, I wasn’t insulting her. Just her parents.”

“Thanks for driving us,” Tim added as Kyla got the car seat clicked into place, “taking a taxi was kind of a terrifying thought.”

“With her weaker immune system, it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea, anyway,” Kyla said as they all got into the car, the couple sitting on either side of their new baby and Damian up in the front seat.

“Like father like daughter,” Damian said dryly, “Didn’t know a missing spleen was hereditary.”

“Ha. Ha. God, I hope it’s not hereditary. I honestly have no idea how Bruce could, in good conscience, let you be Robin. I’ll lock Bristol in a closet if that’s what it takes to keep her out of the cape.”

“If her father isn’t out there, then she won’t have that bad influence,” Kyla said, narrowing her eyes at Tim, “unless you’re planning on being Red Robin again?”

“Well,” Tim said slowly, “I mean. I don’t have exact plans to do so, but being realistic, they always drag me back. Some case always comes up that pulls me right back into the batfamily, no matter how many times I walk away to do my own thing.”

“You can’t,” she exclaimed, “because what if you die? Huh? And leave me all alone in an alternate world with a baby? You can’t seriously do that to me.”

“Kyla,” Tim said tiredly, looking up at the tense and awkwardly silent Damian and Jordan in the front seat, “can we discuss this later?”

“Fine,” she huffed, turning her attention down to the sleeping infant in the carrier. The rest of the ride was had in silence, what was the happiest moment of Tim’s life crushed by the tense atmosphere they’d created. It was a feeling he’d get used to.

\----

Later never came, because babies were _exhausting._

Every waking moment, Tim and Kyla spent caring for Bristol. The baby cried non. stop. It got so bad, Tim often felt like just crying himself.

He was 90% certain their neighbors hated them, but the lady next door kept assuring him that it was fine and said if they ever needed help or a break for a little while to let her know. Which was nice.

Kyla did, indeed, take an internship for the summer, so Tim spent most his days alone with Bristol and her colic.

As July turned into August, Tim became more and more frazzled. They’d taken Bristol to the pediatrician multiple times over her crying, only to be sent home with the instructions to ‘never shake her’ and ‘if you find yourself getting beyond frustrated, make sure she’s safe, changed, and fed, then just set her in her crib and let her cry.’

Tim couldn’t bring himself to do that. Neither could Kyla. Even Damian usually tried to comfort the inconsolable child when he was home.

“What am I doing wrong?” Tim asked his nearly 4-month-old daughter one afternoon while he sat on the couch with her propped up on his thighs so they were eye level, “Why are you always so sad?”

Bristol looked at him with her bright blue, red-rimmed eyes, the tears she’d been shedding for a few hours dried on her eyelashes and all over her face. After a second, she let out another wail and squeezed tightly onto Tim’s fingers.

Tim leaned forward, resting his head gently on her chest and finally let go, himself.

He had thought having a child in the hospital would be the hardest thing he’d ever go through, but he was so wrong. Loving a child so much it hurt, and then seeing that child do nothing but cry for two months was more difficult. And Tim hated himself for thinking he’d rather she be content and hooked up to a breathing machine than healthy and sad.

“I wish I could fix whatever it is, baby girl,” Tim whispered as he shut his eyes.

Falling asleep was not something he meant to do. Especially not with Bristol in his arms, or, balanced on his legs, but it had happened. And Tim didn’t even notice it had happened until someone was tapping on the back of his head and gently lifting the sleeping baby out of his grasp.

“Take a nap, Tim,” Damian whispered as he cradled Bristol in his arms and sat in their recliner to watch some TV, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“You don’t have to, Dames,” Tim said tiredly as he snuggled down onto the couch, pulling the blanket they kept draped across the back onto himself.

“No, but I want to.”

 

Tim woke with a start when Bristol began screaming a few hours later. He sat up to see Kyla whisk the baby out of Damian’s arms and carry her off to their bedroom, where they had her crib set up. Eventually they’d move it back into the nursery, but they just found it easier to keep her in their bedroom.

“I’ve never seen you so exhausted,” Damian commented from where he was still perched in the recliner.

“Yeah, well. Apparently, babies do that.” Tim scrunched his eyebrows then looked up at the clock. “Why are you here? Don’t you have dance class?”

Damian shrugged and looked away. “Dropped it.”

That caused Tim to straighten a bit and cut his gaze coldly to Damian. “You did what?”

“It’s not a big deal. I get plenty of dance practice at rehearsals. I’m needed more here.”

“No,” Tim said fiercely, desperately, “no, no, no. This isn’t your- This isn’t your responsibility, Damian. You’re the kid. You need to- You shouldn’t-” Tim frowned and buried his head into his hands.

Now he’d gone and fucked up Damian’s life, too. The teen had been _happy._ He’d been so. damn. happy. and Tim went and screwed that all up by accidentally creating a baby. God. And the worst part was, he had nothing to say for himself.

“Tim,” Damian demanded, waiting for Tim to look up from his hands and establish eye contact, “I chose this. Me. I don’t need fencing, or dance classes, or any of my extra stuff. Honestly, it’s good to cut back. You told me as much a while back, remember?”

“But you shouldn’t be doing it because you feel the need to _take care of_ us,” Tim whined. He didn’t want to just dump Bristol on Damian, no matter how little. Bristol was Damian’s neiece, not his daughter. He shouldn’t have to help care for her. His relationship with the little girl should be more carefree, more of him playing with her out of desire, not feeding her out of obligation.

“I’m older now than you were when you took over caring for me full time,” Damian pointed out, “you dropped everything for me. I can at least drop a little of my extra stuff I didn’t need to help you out.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Tim protested weakly. He was already starting to think through how much help it would be to have _someone_ there to give him and Kyla a break. To let them have a little alone time every now and again.

“I don’t have to. I want to. I love Bristol, too, you know.”

“What did we do to deserve you, Dames?”

\----

As the weeks continued to pass, Bristol’s colic didn’t subside. It was getting to the point where Tim wanted to bring her to the hospital and refuse to leave until they’d figured out what was wrong with her.

And then, as if someone had flipped a switched and turned on the light, Tim and Kyla noticed the pattern.

She cried for hours after eating. Every time. And she ‘ate,’ or rather, drank, the formula recommended by their NICU nurse.

Together, Tim and Kyla did a ton of research on formula, and decided to switch her to a formula for babies with sensitive stomachs, and within a day her fussiness was cured.

Tim cried from relief. Finally, their little girl was content. She started playing with the toys they put in her hands, exploring her body by chewing on her hands and feet, and meeting all the milestones she hadn’t been reaching during her days of colic.

The doctor insisted that there was ‘no way’ she was lactose intolerant, because neither he nor Kyla were and it was incredibly rare for babies to be lactose intolerant, but whatever her issue was with the old formula, they were just glad to have that phase behind them. Tim felt more than a little guilty he hadn’t made the connection sooner.

“It’s the doctor’s fault,” Damian had said when Tim voiced his regret at dinner one night, “he kept telling you two it was normal and to just deal with it.”

They had just shrugged the comment off.

Because Bristol’s colic was cured, they were able to enroll her in daycare. That had been a serious concern of Tim’s, because no daycare would want to deal with a crying baby every single day, and Tim would be concerned with leaving his daughter in the hands of people who don’t love her enough to not lose patience with her.

But, thankfully, she was happily accepted into their first choice for daycares, and Tim and Kyla were both able to continue on with school and work. They had to shift their schedules around a bit to adhere to the daycare’s hours, but it wasn’t too difficult.

Tim started doing his lab work early in the morning, then had class and work through the late morning and all afternoon. Kyla would wake up with the baby and bring her to daycare, then go to school and work, working into the evening. Tim would pick Bristol up, and they’d all see each other at a late dinner.

It wasn’t perfect, but it worked out pretty well for them. Since Damian had dropped most of his extra curriculars except his acting job, he was able to tag along to the lab with Tim most mornings and attended dinner every night he didn’t have a performance.

And as the routine was established and followed, their little family started to feel like an actual family.

\----

One day in early December, the unexpected happened.

The portal worked.

Tim and Damian had been putting 6-8 hours a week on the damn thing, doing tweak after tweak trying to get it working. Every time one of them had come up with an idea, it didn’t work. Or it did work, but only briefly.

But one day, when they were just tinkering around and playing with the wires inside, Damian accidentally hit the power switch… and it worked.

The portal opened and it just stayed open, a bright blue light with a very faint swirling pattern inside.

“Holy shit,” Tim breathed as he hesitantly held his hand out, desperately wanting to touch the light, but knowing that was probably a really dumb idea.

“We did it,” Damian exclaimed, “we really did it!”

“Alright, okay. Time to test it,” Tim said after another moment of celebration.

Damian pulled out the small box of bouncy balls they’d collected, as a joke at first. Back when they were spending Sundays together, they often found themselves at a silly little arcade Damian had discovered, and instead of saving up their tickets and buying cool prizes, they started wasting every single ticket on bouncy balls. It had become a competition, who could collect the most?

Eventually, they’d collected up so many, they decided to just get rid of them, but Damian had had the bright idea to use them as test subjects when the portal was eventually done.

Tim pulled out a clear ball with rainbow star confetti inside and handed it to Damian. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Gladly,” the brat said, taking the ball and positioning it, as if he were about the play a round of beer pong.

“You don’t play beer pong, do you?” Tim asked in a mock accusing voice. He was only partly concerned that was an actual thing.

“What?” Damian said, flustered, “No, of course not.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t,” he said, this time seriously trying to defend himself, “I don’t think any of my friends even know how to _acquire_ beer to play beer pong.”

Tim grinned. “Sure.” It was hilarious how easy it was to put Damian on the defensive.

“ _Tim_. Can we just get the test started?”

“Okay,” Tim said, smiling victoriously as he set up the monitor, “on three?”

Damian nodded, so Tim counted to three. On cue, Damian tossed the ball at the portal.

Just as it broke the surface, the portal let out a loud zapping sound.

The light flashed brightly, enveloping the entire room, then flicked off in an instant, taking the power for the entire lab with it.

Tim and Damian just blinked at each other as the emergency generator took over and turned all the lights back on and all the uninterrupted power sources hooked up to the computers quit beeping in alarm.

“So glad I didn’t use my hand to test...”

\----

Bristol Anne, as Kyla enjoyed calling her, was making significant progress in her development, especially for a preemie. They had been told to track her milestones by going off her original due date. So, they were supposed to expect her to hit typical milestones for a 6-month-old at 8 months, for a 10-month-old at 12, and so on. By the time she reached the age of two, they were told, she should be caught up.

But Bristol was catching up much quicker than that. By 8-months-old, Bristol was crawling, something she wasn’t supposed to do for another three months, considering she was only six months old, maturity wise.

And wow, that math always tripped Tim up a bit.

Regardless of it all, Bristol was doing amazing. Damian just smiled smugly and said, “See, I told you she’d be smart.”

“I don’t think motor skills have anything to do with intelligence, Dami,” Kyla said brightly as she sat on the floor and encouraged the little girl to crawl after a ball.

“Well, Tim was able to climb to the roofs of skyscrapers at the age of seven, of course she’ll have good motor skills.”

“You better not teach our daughter to climb roofs, Timmy,” Kyla said, smiling teasingly, “I mean it.”

“I will anchor her to the ground myself, don’t worry.”

“You can always sign her up for something like gymnastics if she shows an interest in jumping off stuff,” Damian said dryly, “you don’t have to deny her the opportunity to learn such skills even while keeping her out of a cape.”

“No capes!” Kyla shouted, mimicking a silly movie Damian had loved to watch when he was 11.

“Oh my god,” Damian groaned, then added, “Wait. We missed a golden opportunity! Why didn’t we dress her up as Jack-Jack for Halloween?”

“Because we didn’t do anything for Halloween,” Tim said dully, “she’s too young and you had a performance.”

“So lame,” Damian said flatly, “Next year we have to dress her up as something cute.”

\----

Christmas came and went, as did Tim and Kyla’s wedding anniversary. Their relationship had been improving as Bristol had been growing. Tim had been afraid Bristol would be what drove them apart there at first, but she ended up being something for them to bond over. And as Kyla’s worries about her own future subsided, realizing that she could be both a good mother and work, everything had smoothed out a bit.

Not that they didn’t occasionally spat about things, but they weren’t tensely sitting next to each other anymore.

One thing that had really helped was Damian just snatching Bristol out of Kyla’s arms one day, right when her and Tim were calmly, and in cheery voices so not to upset the baby, arguing over what to do for Christmas.

Damian had just taken the baby and said, “That’s it. It’s date night now, and you two are leaving the house for no fewer than four hours, together. Goodbye.”

They had fussed with him a bit, but eventually he won, and every Tuesday night they went out while Damian took care of Bristol’s bedtime routine.

Tim would venture as far as to say he and Kyla were _happy._

They still argued over what would happen when they returned to Tim’s world, but those arguments were getting fewer and further apart as they started just enjoying where they were.

And in early March, Bristol took her first steps.

It was both a terrifying and incredibly joyous occasion. Terrifying, because Tim realized that soon she’d be able to just zip off and get into all sorts of trouble anywhere in the apartment and thrilling because she was growing up as a normal child. She was doing fine.

\----

In early April, Tim and Damian finally got the portal back up and running. He’d only had a very slight reprimand when the first prototype had tripped the breaker. They were doing science, after all, and failure was part of the territory.

Unfortunately, that failure had fried the entire portal, forcing them to completely gut it and try again.

It had taken four months, but they were finally back at testing phase, and to Tim’s glee, the portal worked just as it had before. The bright blue light with the soft swirl in the middle, indicating a passage into an alternate dimension.

With a bit more warning to the others in the building, Tim and Damian went to test the portal again with their trusty box of bouncy balls. To their annoyance, however, that caused a crowd to gather in the lab to watch.

“You are about to prove the multiverse exists,” Damian whispered hoarsely into Tim’s ear, “It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Yeah,” Tim said numbly. He had kind of forgotten how his research was looking to the outside world. He had been writing reports and presenting his findings all along the way, but in the end, this had always been a personal project of his. His way back home.

It was easy to forget the name for himself, and even Damian, he was creating, since everyone was aware his genius little brother was the mastermind behind the mechanics of the portal.

“Ready?” Tim asked, suddenly a bit nervous about the results.

“On your mark,” Damian said with a grin, a handful of bouncy balls in one hand and a bright green, glow-in-the dark one in the other, ready to go.

“On three,” he repeated, mimicking their first test, before he counted to three.

And on three, as before, Damian launched the ball at the portal.

It took a bounce just before reaching the threshold of the portal, then breeched the surface.

Then. It passed through.

Just like that. There was a slight brightening of the light from the portal, but the ball passed through and disappeared.

There was a hushed explosion of whispers from their observers as Damian tossed a few more through. Each one did the same, passed right through the portal.

“Damian,” Tim breathed, watching him toss ball after ball in, “It works. We- We finally did it.”

“We did,” Damian agreed, grinning widely, “Now the question is, are the balls surviving the journey?”

“I know how we can find out,” Tim said, looking around his desk for something suitable for the test. He looked regretfully at his superman mug, freshly empty from the coffee he’d been sipping at all morning and grabbed a roll of twine.

Tying one end of the twine to the handle of the mug, Tim approached the portal and began swinging the mug slightly. “Ready?” he asked Damian. When the teenager nodded, Tim quickly and anxiously tossed the mug through the portal and waited a full minute, watching as the roll of twine spun. Then, once it reached near the end of the roll, Tim took grasp of the string and began pulling on it.

Amazingly, the twine was coming back out of the portal just fine. Several people from the crowd had drawn closer, and Tim could hear the gasps as he got to the end and pulled his mug out, completely unharmed.

“It-” Damian said, stunned, “It really works.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, inspecting his mug in awe, “now the next question is: What universe have we tapped into?”

\----

Tim presented his research to his committee in mid-April. Word had spread like wildfire across the Physics community about the successful tests of the portal. Everyone agreed he still had a ton of work to do to make sure it was safe for human travel.

Some were even going as far as to say it was possible that, in transport, an object was completely destroyed and then put back together, meaning that transporting a person would cause that person to be killed.

Obviously, that wasn’t how travelling through portals worked. He and Damian were proof of that, but that was information they were sitting on. The legal ramifications of admitting to being technical aliens were too risky. Maybe he’d admit it just before they all returned home.

That would make sense, after all.

Throughout his defense, Tim thought he’d have to dispute every single piece of criticism anyone had put up against his work ever since he first went public with his findings. But as it turned out, his committee was extremely impressed.

_He had discovered the multiverse._

And as a result, on May 16th, Timothy Wagner was awarded a PhD in the field of Physics in front of all his friends and family.

“You’re amazing,” Kyla had whispered before giving him a kiss, and Tim could do nothing but smile as everyone he cared about in this world surrounded them for the rest of the day, celebrating his and Damian’s accomplishments.

They had discovered the multiverse.

Now if only he could discover _his_ universe.

\----

Tim was hired on immediately as a Research Professor at Columbia. The salary was actually pretty incredible compared to what Tim had been expecting. It was still only 2/3 the size of his salary at RI, but it was decent enough.

Between that, Kyla’s income, and Damian’s, Tim didn’t actually have to keep up his work at Roberson Industries.

It took a lot of talking it through, a lot of internal debates and external debates with Kyla, Damian, and Paul, but in June, Tim submitted his notice of resignation. In the end, he decided having time to spend with his family was more important than making money, and while he loved his work at RI, it paled in comparison to what he had at home.

That was a thought he never once thought would go through his head. His parents had always put work above family. Bruce had done the same, and Tim had been heading down that path when he took the CEO position at the ripe old age of 15.

And once again, he was left thanking his lucky stars that he had been thrown into this universe to shake up his life and make him see what was really important.

Working at Columbia was incredible, as well. Tim was only 22, almost 23. Of course, everyone thought he was 24, but that was beside the point. He was 22, and most people his age were just now graduating from _college._

But Tim? Tim had a PhD. People called him “Dr. Wagner,” which, was amazing.

And Tim had students. He had students assigned to him as research assistants. And every single student was older than him. Of course, not a phenomenon he wasn’t used to, but still funny every time he thought about it.

Because of his now incredibly relaxed schedule, Tim usually picked Bristol up from daycare each day around 4pm while Kyla worked at a law office across town, the last of her internships before her final year of law school.

Walking home with his daughter was always pretty fun. Her first birthday had passed, and the little girl was growing up so fast. Every day she seemed to grow more, and her chubby little baby legs were thinning out and showing the cute little toddler she was shaping up to be.

She had a couple words she said, her favorite being “no,” to Tim and Kyla’s exasperation. Not “mama” or “dada,” the other two words she knew, but “no.”

And boy did she know what “no” meant.

She was a stubborn, strong willed little thing, and Tim loved it.

Tim couldn’t believe how well she was doing.

As he walked home with Bristol one oddly cool, late July day, Tim decided to take the scenic route.

Kyla had insisted Bristol wear some dumb head band, claiming that no one knew she was a girl if she didn’t have a flower in her hair, which Tim thought was dumb. The baby was too young to get upset at being called “he,” but he made sure she was wearing it anyway.

It was pretty cute.

But Bristol? Bristol hated it. She pulled it off her head at every opportunity and threw it on the ground. It was after one such instance that Tim found himself standing the little girl up on a retaining wall as he readjusted the headband in his daughter’s hair.

“Keep this in, okay sweetie? You know mama loves it when you wear it, so leave it in for mama.”

Bristol pulled at the headband and squealed, “No,” as Tim kept it still.

“Yes,” he mimicked in her same tone, “Leave it in.”

Tim pretended not to notice as a presence entered his bubble of personal space, coming to stand just a few feet behind him. It was New York City, there were people everywhere. “Bristol, honey,” he said, exasperated as the girl pulled at the headband again, “leave it in.”

“Finally,” a familiar baritone said, “Do you know how difficult it is to track down a scrawny little nerd in a city with 8.5 million people?”

“Jason,” Tim breathed as he spun around, plastering Bristol to his hip as he did so, “Oh my god.”

“Hey, Timbers. How you doing?” the man said, smug smile on his face, and Tim didn’t know what to say.

Was he asleep? Was this another dream? He’d never before dreamed that _Jason_ would be the one to find them.

Because Jason. Jason Todd was standing right in front of him, looking exactly like Tim remembered from the last time he’d saw the man, seven years ago, complete with an ironic red hoody.

“Okay. What’s that?” Jason asked, pointing at Bristol.

It took another few seconds, but Tim’s brain quit short-circuiting as he blinked up at his older brother. “Never seen a baby before?” he asked, grinning now.

This dream hadn’t taken a dark turn yet, turned it into a nightmare, so Tim was going to run with the idea it was real. Considering he could remember every little thing he’d done since waking up that morning, he was probably awake.

And holy fuck. Jason Todd was standing in front of him.

“Right, I know it’s a baby,” Jason drawled, “but why do you have one?”

Tim smiled and transferred Bristol up to his shoulders so they could start walking back to his apartment. Damian was going to flip. “Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much-”

Jason got in step with Tim and laughed. “Shut the fuck up, you little nerd. Is she yours?”

“Yes, and please, please don’t teach her that word. Please. ‘No’ is her current favorite word, and I think if she latches on to one like that, we’ll be kicked out of daycare for sure.”

“Oh my god,” Jason groaned, “Did that come out of your mouth? And also, you’re like 16. Who told you it was a good idea to get a kid?”

Tim scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, then said “I’m 23?”

“Holy moley,” Jason said, looking over at Bristol, who was sitting at eye level with the taller man, “so it really has been seven years for you? You didn’t fake all that history on your facebook page?”

“Uh,” Tim said, cocking his head to the side, “What do you mean, seven years _for me?_ How long has it been for you?”

Jason shrugged and said simply, “Like three weeks.”

That caused Tim to stop short, his mouth hanging open just a little in shock. “What?” he demanded.

“Hmm?” Jason stopped a few paces ahead and turned around to face Tim.

“It’s only been…” Tim whispered, his thoughts running a mile a minute. “Oh. My God.”

“Hey cutie, can I hold you?” Jason said, approaching Tim so he could stroke Bristol’s cheek.

Tim grasped on a little tighter to Bristol’s legs and shot Jason a warning glare.

“Relax,” Jason soothed, “you act like I would shoot a baby. I’d never hurt a kid.”

“You shot Damian when he was 10,” Tim deadpanned, restarting his walk to their apartment. Actually, was it even a good idea to bring the Red freaking Hood to his apartment?

They had had a pretty good truce going there toward the end.

“Yeah, but that was Damian, he hardly counts,” Jason dismissed with a wave of his hand, “Besides, that was like, 6 months ago. I’m a totally different person now.”

“Oh my God,” Tim droned, “Why did they send you?”

“Didn’t,” Jason sang, smiling over at Bristol again, “Roy shot me with the portal gun.”

“Oh my god.”

“Hey baby girl,” Jason said, holding his arms out to Bristol as a request for her to let him pick her up, “come to Uncle Jay,”

Bristol, of course, being a sucker for anyone offering cuddles, bounced a bit on Tim’s shoulders and leaned suicidally forward for Jason to catch her. Tim reluctantly let go as Jason flawlessly caught the little girl and gently hefted her off Tim’s shoulders.

“Hmm,” Jason said as he settled the girl in his arms, “Nope, can’t use that. Uncle Hood it is.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re sounding like a broken record, there, Timbo. You’ve got your daddy’s eyes, don’t you gorgeous," Jason said, brushing his hand across Bristol's cheek, who was just staring at him curiously, "but definitely your mothers everything else. No way Timbers here is responsible for this beauty."

Tim looked away from his daughter in his possibly unstable older brother’s arms and started working through the math. “So, if it’s been about three weeks there and almost seven years here…”

“The ratio at which time is moving is 1:121.3”

“How do you just know that?” Tim whined, annoyed he didn’t get to figure it for himself.

“Already did the math,” he replied, tickling Bristol’s stomach to elicit a giggle from the tot, “It took a while to get up here, you know? I didn’t just magically appear three feet from you. Actually, I wound up in the middle of an abandoned, dark cave first. So, had plenty of time to do research on my way here.”

“So you already knew I had a daughter,” Tim observed, unamused, “Why pretend you still thought I was 16?”

Jason bounced Bristol up a little, encouraging the child to laugh harder as he said, “It was funny to see you get offended.”

Tim let out a huff as they finally approached his building.

As Tim typed in the code, Jason said, “Thanks for the note, by the way, totally appreciate you completely forgetting I exist.”

“Sorry,” he said, ducking his head as he held the door for Jason to walk through, “I wasn’t expecting them to call you in on this case, to be honest.”

“Oh, they didn’t call me in. I just showed up.”

“I suppose that is your specialty.”

“So,” Jason said after a few more minutes of him playing with Bristol, “Where is the little demon brat?”

“He’s not so little anymore,” Tim said, grinning, “he’s taller than you. And he should be home.”

“Great! Bet I could still take him.”

“Oh my god,” Tim repeated.

What even was his life?


	28. Seven Years

As soon as Tim opened the apartment door, Bristol started squealing, “Eeee,” and fighting against Jason’s grasp for freedom to the floor.

“Yep, there’s Uncle D,” Tim said, nodding at Jason that the baby could be set down on the ground, “go make him lose his game, Bris.”

“No,” Damian whined from where he sat on the ground, lifting his controller up out of the reach of the quickly approaching girl, “Don’t encourage that, Frank and I are in the middle of- oof.”

Bristol practically tackle hugged Damian, causing the teen to grunt as he tried to catch her and continue with his game.

Tim grinned over at Jason, who was being strangely quiet. Well, strangely quiet for Jason. He was just standing there, right inside the front door, staring over at Damian.

“No rehearsals tonight?” Tim asked, deciding to ignore the pending reunion. He kind of wanted to see how it played out.

“Of course not, or I’d be there,” Damian huffed, struggling to situate Bristol on his lap without looking away from the screen and ruining whatever it was he was playing with Frank, “Okay, Bristol is on our team now. Yeah.”

Waving at Jason to come on into the house and find a seat or something, Tim continued chatting with Damian. “Are you in for the night?”

“Bristol, stop,” Damian begged the little girl, who would not quit reaching for the controller, “Yes, Tim, I am. Can Frank come over for dinner?”

“No,” Bristol screamed, before reaching again for the controller and squealing for it.

“Not tonight,” Tim said, winking over at Jason, who had finally taken another couple steps inside and no longer looked completely taken off guard, but still totally lost.

“Oh?” Damian asked, furrowing his brows in concentration, “Why not?”

“Well,” Tim said slowly, “I want tonight to be just family.”

“Right. He said he wants it to be only family,” Damian said into the mic, twisting his body away so he was somehow keeping himself between Bristol and the controller, “Frank wants to know if you’re dying. Bristol, oh my God.”

“Okay,” Tim said, clapping his hands and walking over to where his brother and daughter sat, “That’s enough, pumpkin.” Tim picked the little girl up out of a very grateful Damian’s arms, who still hadn’t looked away from the screen once.

Walking over toward Jason, Tim said, “Why don’t you come play with Uncle Jay?”

The clattering of Damian’s controller as it hit the ground brought a grin to Tim’s face. He looked over to see his little brother staring at Jason, wide eyed.

“Hey, Demon Brat,” Jason said with a crooked grin, accepting Bristol from Tim.

“Jason,” Damian breathed, then jumped slightly, his attention being pulled back to his game, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I have to go. Yes. No. No, my dead brother is standing in my living room. Yes, I’m serious. Bye.”

“There’s no way Frank isn’t coming over now,” Tim observed dryly, “you could have phrased that better.”

“I mean it’s technically true,” Jason said, walking around the couch to take a seat with Bristol, “I am the dead brother.”

“Where did you come from?” Damian finally asked, “How are you here?”

“Well,” Jason began, stupid smug smirk on his face as he played with the little girl in his arms, “The year was-“

“Wait,” Damian interrupted, finally standing up and walking closer to Jason, “You- you haven’t aged. At all.” His eyes darted back and forth between Tim and Jason before he added more solemnly, “time is moving differently, isn’t it.”

Not a question. A statement.

“Yeah,” Tim said, frowning, as he leaned over the couch between his two brothers, “for every day that passes there, about 121 passes here.”

“Wow,” Damian whispered, looking down at his hands, “That’s- wow.”

Jason reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair. A funny sight considering they were about the same height sitting down. Jason was much more muscular than Damian, but Damian was clearly athletic, he just didn’t have a ton of muscle mass. “Sorry, kiddo.”

“So, it’s been about three weeks there?” Damian asked quietly, looking up at Jason, “you guys didn’t give up on us?”

Bristol started whining and wriggling her way out of Jason’s arms, then toddled off to her basket of toys in the corner, making Tim and Jason both smile a bit at her. If she wasn’t the center of attention, she was going to go find something better to do.

“Damian, I told you they’d never-”

“Yes, but being told is different from knowing, Tim,” Damian cut in, “We just assumed you guys thought we were dead and gave up.”

“Well, we did think you were dead,” Jason said, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees, now that he wasn’t holding a child, “For about two weeks, actually, but your dad lives in denial and finally figured out what had really happened.”

“Is D-“ Damian shook his head, “Father here? Did he come as well? How are you in this universe now?”

“Funny story,” Jason grinned, then turned to Tim, “So that ring on your finger, it mean you got a wife in the picture?”

“What?” Tim said, looking down at his wedding ring, “Yeah, of course. You think Bristol just materialized out of nowhere? Do I really need to explain where babies come from?”

“Cool, cool, just checking. No, B ain’t here, I kind of went against orders and convinced Roy to shoot me with the teleporter gun. You’re welcome. If I’d gone with his way you’d probably be trapped here several more years before we finally got here.”

Damian scowled at what Tim could only assume was the brat taking Jason’s statement as an insult to his intelligence. “We’d have figured it out ourselves. We’ve got the portal done.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, “we’re at the point of sifting through universes to find the right one.”

“So, like, you two are working together?” Jason asked, sitting back a bit he could wave his hand at both boys, “I mean, we were kind of concerned you’d kill each other before we got to you.”

Tim started laughing and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He was cool with springing Jason on Damian, but he wasn’t about to startle his wife with a surprise family member. It wasn’t too much time to prepare, but at least she’d get a little heads up that Jason was in the apartment if he texted her.

“Well,” Damian flustered, “I might have tried at one point, but we figured it out.”

“Pretty quickly, I’d guess,” Jason said, pulling out his own phone and flipping through his photos album, “I mean, I stalked your facebook pages and this here is definitely you two right after you got stranded here.”

The teenager turned his phone so Damian and Tim could see, showing them that first selfie together they’d taken way back at Niagara Falls.

“Oh yeah,” Damian said, smiling at the picture, “that was actually a fun trip.”

Tim nodded and pointed over at the wall of photographs hanging between the kitchen and living room. “Lots of good pictures from our trips. That one’s up on the wall, too.”

“Damn,” Jason said as he stood up to inspect all the photos spread all over the house. They’d decorated, of course, with all the pictures from the old apartment mixed in with plenty from their seven years together. There were even newer ones of Bristol scattered about. It was difficult to look around in the house and not see happy memories of them and their friends and family.

That was the point.

“Man, you guys really built a life here.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, nodding as he looked around at all the pictures Jason was slowly inspecting, “we really did.”

\----

Kyla got home just as Tim was finishing up dinner. Despite his love for Damian, he’d long since quit fixing only vegetarian meals. He still made Damian enough food to feed the growing teenage dancer he was, though. He just made a meat dish for the rest of them. They didn’t want Bristol to grow up not eating meat. She had problems with dairy, it seemed, and having to cut out such an essential source of protein meant they weren’t going to deny her meat, as well.

Damian, being a great kid, never once complained about it.

“Mama,” Bristol screeched as soon as Kyla shut the door. It took only a second for the toddler to be across the room and scooped up into the woman’s arms.

“Hey, baby. I missed you today,” she said, giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to Jason and said, “Hi, I’m Kyla.”

“Wow, Timbers,” Jason said as he stood to offer his hand to shake, “I’m Jason. How on earth did this little nerd here convince you to marry him?”

Kyla just smirked at him while she shook his hand, shifting Bristol to one arm, and said, “You know, when Timmy said his older brother was here, I was expecting someone older. Not a kid barely older than Damian.”

“Oh,” Tim laughed mockingly.

“I am nine years older than Damian,” Jason insisted, “Nine.”

“Two,” Damian corrected with a devious smile, “I’m 17 and you’re 19.”

Jason spun around and pointed a finger at the brat. “No, that doesn’t count. You were born 10 years ago and I was born 19 years ago.”

“I have lived 17 years of my life. I’m 17. We’re now two years apart.”

“Guess that makes _me_ the older brother,” Tim announced as he started serving the fajitas he’d made onto plates. Chicken for most of them, and veggie for Damian. “This is great. I get to boss Jason around now and go on about how much more about life I know than him.”

“You will not,” Jason snapped, “I’m still the older brother. You nerds will just have to deal with it. I was born before you.”

“Whatever you say, little brother,” Tim said with a grin, “Dames, help set the table?”

The lot of them pitched in to set the table and get everything ready to eat. Kyla cut up a serving of fajitas for Bristol to eat with her fingers while the rest of them turned their fajitas into tacos.

“This is some good shit, Timbo,” Jason said on his third taco, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Language,” Tim chastised, “there are children present.”

Said children continued on like nothing happened. Not surprising for the baby, who was more interested in trying to get cooked bell peppers into her mouth. But Tim was expecting Damian to protest to being lumped in with Bristol.

“He couldn’t,” Damian agreed instead.

“Wow, ungrateful much?” Tim scoffed. Little brat. If he were so bad, why didn’t Damian ever offer to cook instead?

“What?” Damian said, clearly amused with himself, “You improved.”

“Holy guacamole, you two are so weird. Can’t wait for B to see this.”

“Did you just say… ‘holy guacamole?’” Damian asked, scrunching his eyebrows.

“Better than teaching our daughter to cuss,” Kyla commented, finishing off the last of her food.

“Great, so how is this gonna work?” Jason said, pulling some weird device out of his pocket, “Are you bringing the wife and kid back with you, or are they staying here?”

Tim bristled and zeroed in on the watch-like device Jason was now fiddling with, “I’m- I’m not _leaving_ them,” he said forcefully. Did Jason have a way back with him? Was he legitimately a rescue party and not just an idiot who got himself stranded here, too?

“Awesome, then let’s get this show on the road.”

“What?” Damian said suddenly, startled, at the same time Tim said, “Wait.”

Kyla and Tim exchanged a quick look, the two of them practically shouting back and forth. This was all sudden. Way too sudden.

“We can’t just-” Damian started, just to be interrupted by a loud zapping sound as the watch shocked Jason.

“Fu-shi- _Leapin’ lizards_ ,” Jason shouted as he dropped the watch on the ground, “Ow that hurt. You can’t just what?” he demanded as he cradled his shocked hand.

Bristol let out a loud squeal as she giggled at Jason’s pain. Tim honestly worried about her and what she found entertaining, sometimes.

“We can’t just _leave,”_ Damian said almost hollowly, then hastily added on, “not without a chance to say goodbye and wrap everything up here.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, relieved Damian felt the same way, “if we just disappeared it would cause a lot of undue distress for our friends.”

“My mom would flip,” Kyla said, nodding vigorously.

Jason looked between all of them and then shrugged, “Okay. Whatever. My little teleporter watch guy is broken anyway.”

Tim’s shoulders relaxed as he let out the tension he wasn’t aware had built up.

“Did you say ‘ _Leapin’ lizards?’”_ Damian finally asked, giving Jason his exasperated and amused face.

“Got a problem with little orphan Annie?” And oh no, Tim could see where this was going. God help them all if Jason was also a fan of theater.

“Well, no,” the brat said, grinning now, “I love that musical. There are just no roles in it for me. Not until I’m older, at least.”

“Oh yeah,” Jason turned to Damian and offered a genuine smile through his mouth full of food, “you do plays an’ stuff.”

The kid nodded enthusiastically and announced proudly, “I just auditioned for my first Broadway role.”

“You did what?” Kyla said, “Oh my gosh, Dami, when were you going to tell us?”

“Tim knew,” Damian said defensively, “he had to sign all the forms.”

“He wanted it to be a surprise,” Tim shrugged, “if he got the role.”

“Wow,” Jason said, obviously a little shocked, “Da- ng. Okay, I’m glad this stupid watch doesn’t work. I want Bruce to come here and see this.”

To that, Damian just smiled as he took a sip of his water. “I’d be okay with that.”

\----

They set Jason up in the spare room. It had been used primarily as a study, but there was a bed for when one of their friends wanted to crash for the night. It wasn’t difficult to get Jason situated. They just had to run to the store to buy him some clothes that fit, since Damian was slimmer and his clothes didn’t work.

After everyone retired for the night and Bristol was long asleep in her nursery, Tim finally joined Kyla in bed, freshly showered.

“So,” Kyla said as Tim got under the covers, “how are we doing this?”

“Doing what?” Tim asked, looking over his phone one last time. Making sure the alarm was set. Not that they’d need it. Bristol would wake them up at 6, like clockwork.

“This whole ‘your world’ thing.”

“I don’t know,” Tim said honestly, turning to face his wife, “I don’t know.”

\----

“Holy shit,” Tim heard Jason say that next morning, “you have a cat. Fuck it startled me.”

“Jay,” Tim said, sleepily carrying Bristol into the living room to feed her breakfast.

“Hey, that one wasn’t in here when this demon cat jumped up onto the couch next to me,” Jason said, pointing at Bristol, “Where did it even _come from_?”

Damian picked Carrie up and began petting her, as if he were comforting the cat. “She’s not a demon, and we’ve had Carrie for six and a half years.”

“Holy cannoli, this is just too weird,” Jason mumbled, “Okay but where was she yesterday?”

Tim shrugged. “She likes to hide?”

“She’s not very social,” Damian admitted.

“So, Dames, what’s on the schedule today?” Tim asked, setting Bristol down into her high chair.

“Nothing until warmups before tonight’s show.”

“And that’s at?” Tim questioned, pulling the box of Cheerios down to dump some on Bristol’s tray.

The little girl kicked her feet excitedly when she saw the box, and immediately started eating once the cereal was in front of her.

“Three,” Damian supplied, taking the box from Tim to pour himself a bowl.

Tim nodded. “Alright, so we have plenty of time to figure out Jason’s story.”

“My story?” Jason said, joining them at the table with his own empty bowl.

“Yeah, the world thinks Damian and I are orphans and our dad and brothers died in a car accident seven years ago. You can’t be our brother.”

“Plus, you aren’t old enough to be our brother, Jason,” Damian added.

Tim grabbed a box of frosted shredded wheat and the milk from the fridge and sat back down to pour himself some cereal. “Point.”

“Okay,” Jason said, accepting the box of cereal when Tim offered it, “so I’m a long-lost brother you’re just now meeting.”

“Honestly, you look more like Tim than you do me,” Damian said, “and everyone knows Tim is adopted. We should just run with that and say you’re related to him through his birth family.”

“Related to this scrawny little dweeb?” Jason said, “We might have the same complexion and hair color, Demon, but that’s as far as our similarities go. None of us are actually related.”

Damian rolled his eyes and took the milk from Tim to pour over his cheerios. “You could be my cousin, then.”

Bristol tossed her sippy cup off the side of her tray and grinned at Tim, who ignored his daughter. If she didn’t want her drink, then she didn’t get her drink.

“Cousin would be extremely easy to fake,” Tim said through a mouth of cereal, “and easy to explain why no one’s seen him before now. You’re 19, so it’s easy enough to explain you just moved out and are ‘following your dreams’ to NYC and we offered for you to stay with us.”

“And what would my dreams be?” Jason questioned, retrieving the sippy cup and handing it back to the baby.

“If you keep giving it to her, she’ll just keep-” Tim began, just to be interrupted by the sound of Bristol’s cup hitting the ground again, “doing that. And I don’t care what your dreams are, I’m not creating your backstory for you.”

“Why is this even necessary?” Jason said, and Tim had a strange nostalgic feeling for those early days with Damian, “Bruce is sure to be hot on my heels getting here, then we’ll all just go home.”

“I used to whine that same thing at Tim,” Damian said with a grin, “and here we are seven years later.”

“Even if they only take another day to get their own portals working,” Tim explained, “that’ll be another 121 days here. So, unless you want to sit around the apartment hiding that entire time, might as well get your identity up and running now.”

Damian nodded and finished off his cereal. “Trust me. Sitting around the apartment sucks. I pretty much fell into depression when I did that.”

“You did fall into it, Dames,” Tim said, “even your fifth-grade teacher commented on it.”

“His fifth grade- wait. You _sent him to school_? Oh, that’s amazing.”

“Fifth grade sucked,” Damian added with a shrug, “but middle school was fine. High school has been great.”

“Alright, back to the topic at hand,” Tim said, standing to collect the now empty bowls, “Jason, figure out your name and backstory and let me know it so I can get you a birth certificate and all the required documents.”

\----

In the end, Jason chose to go by Jason Harper, second cousin to them on Bruce’s side. Once he had a name and basic backstory, it was quite easy to create the teen identification documents.

As for why Jason had wanted to move to NYC, well, the idiot kept coming up with stupid reasons. So, Tim decided to just tell people his parents kicked him out because he’s a loser, and he and Kyla were cool with him living with them because it meant free babysitting.

Jason could go spewing whatever dumb story he wanted, like the one where his dream was to become a millionaire by playing the harmonica in Time Square. When Damian asked if he could actually play the harmonica, his immediate answer was “no” without even a smile.

Tim wondered why he ever looked up to Jason as much as he had.

“Okay, okay, you know what’s weirding me out the most?” Jason said one evening about a week after he’d arrived. Kyla was in the nursery, rocking a cranky Bristol to sleep, so it was just the boys sitting in the living room, debating whether to watch a movie.

“What’s that?” Tim said absently as he read through some research summaries he’d been sent by a colleague for review. Which, still weird. He was frequently asked for his input on others’ research. _Dr. Wagner._ Heh.

“The fact that the little demon brat didn’t kill the new baby for usurping his role as only child,” Jason said flippantly as he browsed the titles of DVDs they had on the shelf next to the TV.

Damian shifted on the couch where he was lying and reading a book to scowl at Jason. “I am not so insecure in my place in this family that I would think that a new baby could possibly ‘usurp’ me, Jason.”

Jason paused with his finger on a DVD case he was about to pull off the shelf and whistled. “Holy Ravioli, Timbo. What have you done? This is not the same demonbrat we all know and tolerate.”

Tim snorted as Damian rolled his eyes. “Yes,” the brat drawled, “Well, it’s amazing what a little confidence, time, and maturity does to a person.”

Pulling the DVD for _Justice League_ off the shelf, Jason said, “Dick is going to cry. You know that? He’s going to cry.”

“Why would Richard cry?” Damian demanded as he sat up.

“I think,” Tim said, not even looking up from his screen, “Jason is trying to say he’s proud of you, Dames, and Dick will be, too.”

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. “If you want to get all mushy about it.”

Damian nodded and sat back against the couch. “Ah. Well, thanks, I suppose.”

\----

“Is the legal system the same there?” Kyla asked on night while they were in bed, both reading, and Tim realized. They’d never really talked about any of this.

The idea of going back to his world had always been this abstract picture, something way off in the future. A problem for future Tim. Future Tim and future Kyla. He never really thought through that he would, one day, be future Tim.

“Yeah, yeah. More corrupt, I think, but the same basic bones,” he said, squinting off into the distance, as if doing so could help him see clearer into his own world, remember life from seven years ago better, “Might be a few different Supreme Court cases to learn, because of superheroes and powers and stuff, but if you can pass the Bar here, I’m confident you can pass it there.”

“Would I have to do Law School over again, though?” she asked, turning over and propping her head up on her hand, “How would that work? Are people going to know I’m from an alternate universe or is that going to be kept secret?”

Tim set his ipad to the side and said, “I don’t actually know, but you realize that my family isn’t unknown, right? We are practically celebrities in Gotham. It’s not going to be unnoticed that Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, who are supposed to 10 and 16, are suddenly 17 and 23.”

Kyla nodded and flopped onto her back dramatically, throwing her arms out to either side. “Well. Maybe that means we can bring our credentials with us. You can still be a PhD and I can be a lawyer and Damian can be a Broadway star and everything we’ve done here won’t be for nothing.”

\----

Time started to tick by again as the family adjusted to the sudden addition of Jason Todd.

Jason was not at all how Tim remembered him. Perhaps it was the large gap of time between him and his last encounter with the teenager, but he remembered Jason being a lot rougher. More violent.

But Jason was… kind of hilarious. And really sweet, in a sarcastic, begrudging kind of way. He absolutely adored Bristol and was nothing but a gentleman toward Kyla. When it came to Tim and Damian, however, he was a complete shit and knew it.

Tim was enjoying having a brother he didn’t have to parent.

When school started back up in September, Jason was still there and there was no sign of Bruce or a rescue party.

Not that they’d get a warning, Tim was pretty sure, but he was kind of surprised it was taking so long.

He’d even taken Jason’s teleporter device and tried to fix it, to no avail. Something about the trip had completely fried it and Tim couldn’t even get the coordinates to their universe from it.

But, the failure meant that Tim got to start his first full semester as a professor, since the summer semester hardly counted, and Damian got to start his _Senior Year._

“We should definitely take a picture,” Tim said at breakfast on Damian’s first day, “to mark the special occasion.”

“No, Tim,” Damian whined, “don’t be ridiculous. It’s just high school.”

“It’s your last first day ever,” Kyla said, smug grin on her face.

And damn, Tim absolutely loved that look.

“Well, Tim’s smitten, Damian’s embarrassed, and Kyla’s evil,” Jason announced as he entered the kitchen and pulled out a plate to serve himself some breakfast, “With all that going on, none of you were paying attention to Bristol.”

At that, all eyes snapped to the toddler, who was sitting in her high chair, kicking her feet as she munched on some peach slices, perfectly content.

“What about her?” Tim asked, confused because he was expecting to see the girl choking or misbehaving or something, not eating her breakfast.

“Nothing,” Jason said, grinning wide, “just thought she needed more attention.”

“She’s fine,” Damian said, taking one final bite of his oatmeal before hopping up to finish getting ready.

“Picture!” Tim yelled after him as he went, “or I will come to your school and take one in front of all your friends.”

“You’re the worst,” Damian whined when he returned to put his shoes on.

“What do you think, Bristol?” Tim asked the baby, “Is Daddy the worst?”

“No,” she declared happily between chewing on her peach.

“You’ve basically rigged her,” Damian protested, “she always answers ‘no’ because it’s the only word she knows.”

“No,” Bristol yelled again, flinging her peach at Damian.

“Don’t throw food,” Tim chastised, trying his best not to burst out in laughter with the rest of the family.

Damian did end up letting his picture be taken before he left, leaving Jason and Tim alone in the kitchen while Tim went through his bag, making sure he had everything. Kyla had taken Bristol to their room to get the baby cleaned up and ready for the day, since her day started later than Tim’s.

“Why do you still waste money on daycare for the rugrat,” Jason asked as he shoveled oatmeal into his mouth ungracefully, “I am perfectly capable of keeping her alive while you people are off being all adult.”

“It’s a good daycare?” Tim said, raising an eyebrow. Was his crazy older-slash-younger brother seriously offering to watch a hyper 17-month-old for six or seven hours a day, every day? Did he even understand how much work that was?

“Whatever, it’s your money, but it’s not like I’m doing anything better.”

“If we withdraw her, we’ll lose the spot,” Tim explained as he finished packing his bag for work, “What would we do when we don’t have you? And it’s a really good daycare, Jay. They have an actual curriculum starting with the two-year-olds.”

“Yeah, but you’re brining her with us to Gotham, so I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

Tim turned to Jason and stared for a good few seconds before nodding. “Right, duh. I don’t know. It’s good for her to socialize.”

“Whatever. She’s your kid.”

\----

It took several, extremely long and complicated audition processes, but in October, Damian rushed into the apartment with what was likely the best news he’d ever shared.

“I got the part,” he shouted to everyone sitting in the living room, not even fully through the door himself.

“No way,” Kyla exclaimed, “Oh my God, Dami! That’s incredible!”

Tim grinned widely and said, “Wow, congratulations, buddy.”

“What part?” Jason asked from the floor, where he was lying, letting Bristol climb on him, “What are we talking about?”

Damian smiled widely and hopped over the couch to join Tim and Kyla on it. “I am going to be one of the ‘newsies’ in the Broadway production, and the standby for the role of Jack Kelly.”

“You didn’t tell me that part,” Kyla said, mouth agape, “oh my God. Oh my _God._ I’m so proud of you, you have no idea.”

“What does that even mean,” Jason whined, lifting Bristol up in the air, making the toddler giggle around chewing on her pacifier.

“Jack Kelly is the lead,” Tim ventured, raising an eyebrow at Damian for confirmation, “and the standby is the number one person to fill in for a role when the main actor can’t do a show?”

When the brat nodded enthusiastically, Jason said, “Damn. So like, you’re leading in a Broadway play, then? Basically?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Damian said, grinning, “and they said if I do well, I’ll always be lead on Tuesdays starting in January, on the main actor’s day off. The guy in the role now is being considered for the lead in another show.”

“That’s incredible, kiddo,” Tim said, “This calls for ice cream.”

“Yes,” Kyla agreed, hopping up to get ready, “for dinner. Instead of dinner. Let’s do it.”

“Okay,” Jason said, sitting up and bringing Bristol with him, “but you guys realize that Bruce is going to show up any day, right? And then we’re going home?”

“Yeah, and?” Tim asked as he got up to get Bristol’s shoes and jacket.

“Are you sure? Because none of you are acting like you know it. Damian just made plans for _January.”_

Damian was first to react, scowling down at his older brother, “Are you suggesting I turn down this role?”

“Well, I mean, you’re going to leave it rather suddenly,” Jason began, just to be cut off by Damian.

“I have been working my ass off for six years, Jason, to get to this point. Being on Broadway is _my dream_.”

“And I understand that,” Jason said pointedly, “I’m just saying, be realistic here. You can always go be on Broadway in our world.”

“Here, baby,” Kyla said, reaching down to take Bristol from Jason, “let’s go get you ready to go.”

“You know what?” Damian said, crossing his arms and relaxing back into the couch a bit, “I’ve decided I’m not leaving until I finish high school, anyway.”

“What?” Tim said, startled, “you aren’t? I mean, I’m okay with that decision, but shouldn’t we discuss this? We should probably discuss this, anyway.”

“You’re gonna make Bruce just wait around until June?” Jason asked, rising to his feet, “Really? I’m all for sticking it to the man and pissing B-man off, but what even is the point? The degree will mean nothing in our world. And I’m not sitting around here for a minute longer than I have to.”

“Good for you,” Damian snapped, “no one asked you to come here in the first place.”

“Damian,” Tim said tiredly.

Jason held a hand up to silence Tim and said, “No, he’s right. No one asked me to come here. I just fucking dropped everything and shot myself with a damn teleporter gun, not sure if I’d even survive the experience, all in hopes of saving my fucking-“ he paused, shaking his head in frustration, “the two little robins.”

“We didn’t need rescuing,” Damian shot back, “we were doing fine on our own.”

“Damian,” Tim said again, a little more forcefully.

“Oh yeah, totally fine,” Jason said, voice laden with sarcasm as he flung his arms around, “Seven years and you only just figured out how to even tap into other multiverses. At this rate it would have taken you another 20 to sift through and find ours.”

“I don’t even care,” Damian shouted, hopping to his feet, “We started from nothing and got this far in only seven years. _You_ guys had all the technology needed. The damn teleporter responsible in your hands, and it took _you_ this long to find _us.”_

“Only three weeks!”

“Guys,” Tim interjected, placing himself between the two much taller men as the continued to get closer to one another.

Damian finally seemed to get the message and took a step back, then a calming breath. “I refuse to sit on the sidelines of my own life, waiting for someone to come save me and finally tag me into the game.”

Jason interjected, “That is not what-”

“That is exactly what you’re demanding I do,” Damian interrupted, his tone sharp, “Had I just sat back and waited for my dad to get here and rescue us, I would have wasted away my entire childhood.  _Seven years,_ Jason.”

“Yeah,” Jason said numbly.

“I’m not saying I won’t go home, I’m just saying I’m not going to live the next however-many months in anticipation of Father’s arrival. He will come when he comes, and I will leave when I wrap up on my life here.”

“Bruce isn’t gonna just let you stay, Damian,” Jason said tiredly, “he’s going to want you to come home immediately.”

“And you know what? I don’t care,” Damian challenged, “He does not have custody of me here, so he has no power over me. And in a couple months, I’ll be eighteen, so no one will. I make enough money to support myself now, so I’m not concerned about anyone’s reactions to my decision to stay through graduation.”

“I’d never force you to leave, Dames,” Tim said, “or kick you out. I’ll stick around as long as you want to.”

Damian smiled slightly and nodded, “I had assumed as much. Besides, I figured Father would enjoy witnessing my graduation ceremony. I know he and I only knew each other for a few months when I was ten, but still. It’s my high school graduation.”

Tim set a hand on Damian’s shoulder and said, “I think you’re right. And I’m sure he’ll be just as proud as I am.”

Jason let out a short burst of air, blowing his bangs up in the air briefly, before he mumbled, “Holy fuck this is complicated.”

\----

“So, we’re staying at least through June?” Kyla asked that night as she got into bed, long after they’d gone out for ice cream.

Tim nodded while brushing his teeth, waiting until he had rinsed his mouth to respond verbally. “So it would seem.”

“We can work with this.” Kyla lay down in bed, pulling the covers up over her, then turned to face Tim. “We have an actual timeline, now.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, flipping off lights as he made his way across the room to their bed, “I can finish out the school year and not feel bad about abandoning students mid-year.”

“And I can take the Bar exam in the spring,” Kyla agreed, “finish Law School.”

Slipping down under the covers, Tim nodded absently. “Yeah. June.”

“Or maybe July?” Kyla suggested, “to give us a few weeks to wrap everything up? After graduations and such?”

“July,” Tim agreed, clicking the last lamp off, “We’ll leave in July.”

Tim lay in bed for hours, long after Kyla had drifted off to sleep, thinking through everything.

And honestly?

July seemed far too close.


	29. Seven Years and Six Months

Bruce still had not made an appearance by Thanksgiving.

Tim wasn’t sure how he felt about that. When Jason showed up, he had felt incredibly guilty for realizing he hadn’t thought much about Bruce in a while. He hadn’t ached for his dad and brothers the way he did at the beginning for quite some time.

He still longed for them. Wanted them in his life. To meet his daughter. But it wasn’t a constant pain.

And at first, he felt guilty about that, but he’d come to accept it. That’s what time did, he supposed.

Jason showing up renewed his desire to see his family, though, so when they hadn’t appeared by Thanksgiving, he was a little saddened to realize they’d spend yet another one without them.

It was still a good day, though, because Paul and his family came over, sans his oldest daughter due to her spending the day with her boyfriend in California.

Bristol needed her morning nap not long after Paul, Laura, and Molly arrived, so for whatever reason _all_ the girls went to put her down. And had been in there for half an hour already. Tim knew an excuse to not help with the cooking when he saw one.

Whatever, he didn’t care. Besides. Kyla was a _terrible cook._ Just awful. So, it was probably better she didn’t help.

They’d been chatting around the kitchen island in the downtime between the various tasks of making Thanksgiving dinner when Paul finally spoke up about Jason.

“He’s our cousin,” Tim said, flipping through the cookbook for no real reason, “from New Jersey.”

Levelling Tim a flat expression, Paul drawled, “He’s your cousin,” the disbelief clear in his voice.

Jason was grinning, Tim could just tell. He could feel the stupid smile all the way across the island. Tim nodded and turned another page, “Sure is.”

Paul pointedly looked at the wall of photos just outside the kitchen then back at Tim. “You want to try that again?”

Smiling innocently, Tim said “Nope.” That was his story and he was sticking to it.

But of course, stupid Jason had to start snickering. Tim took great pleasure in the grunt of pain the teenager made when Damian elbowed him rather harshly.

“Timothy Drake Wagner,” Paul sighed, and Tim wanted to shrink in on himself a bit. He hadn’t been given the dad-glare in quite a while. “I think I deserve the truth from you after all these years.”

Shutting the cook book, Tim looked up at Paul through his bangs and smiled sheepishly. Yep. He was a little child.

“For starters,” Jason began, and the smugness in his voice immediately filled Tim with dread. More than the dad-glare had. “If you’re gonna middle-name him, you should do it properly.”

No. He wouldn’t.

He so would. He’s a jackass like that.

“Jay,” Tim begged. He didn’t want to ruin his relationship with Paul, and the man finding out he’d been lying about his _name_ all this time would definitely call into question the trust they had.

“Timothy,” Jason said slowly, his smile turning from smug to downright evil.

“I’ll kick you out,” Tim threatened.

“No, you won’t,” Jason sang, winking, “Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

“I hate you,” Tim whined, covering his face with his hands so he didn’t have to see Paul’s reaction.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,” Paul said, just as firmly as he had a moment before.

“Oh my God,” Tim groaned, putting his face down on the counter, not even removing his hands.

“So, who is Jason really?”

“Fine,” Damian said, obviously realizing Tim wasn’t going to answer, “He’s our brother.”

Paul nodded sagely as he looked between the three boys. “Also adopted?”

“Yep,” Jason said, popping the ‘p,’ “Good ol’ Brucie had a thing for orphans.”

“You make it sound so wrong,” Tim groaned.

Jason shrugged and snatched a bag of chips from the pantry behind him. “It is what it is.”

“Can we just talk about something else?” Tim begged, watching incredulously while Jason dumped the entire bag of chips into a bowl and started eating. They were going to have dinner in like, two hours. He couldn’t wait?

“How much longer on the turkey?” Damian asked, shifting a bit in his seat.

“Why, you gonna actually eat some?” Jason said through a mouth full of sour cream and onion chips, a smile tugging at his lips, “it’s already dead, refusing to eat it doesn’t do anything to save the animal.”

“Jason,” Damian snapped, his voice as close to a growl as it could be without being one, “would you just quit?”

“Quit what? I’m not doing anything.” The smug smile on Jason’s face told a completely different story.

“You’re trying your best to stir up shit,” Damian challenged, “and I’m kind of tired of it.”

“I can’t believe I ever missed having family,” Tim mumbled, turning his attention to the kitchen. They needed to make the mashed potatoes soon.

“Oh really? You’re kind of tired of it?” Jason mocked, and all Tim could do was take a deep breath and rub at his face.

His two brothers had been getting on each other’s nerves more and more recently, and he was beyond sick of it. Deciding to ignore his still bickering brothers, he looked over at Paul with an apologetic expression.

Paul smiled and rounded the counter to clap a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “What do you need help with now, Tim?”

“Potatoes,” he said absently as he began pulling out everything they needed. Peeler. Bowl. Large pot. Knife. And… something else.

The bag of potatoes landed on the counter, right in front of Tim just as he realized what it was he was missing. “Ah, thanks, Paul.”

“Righto, want me to wash them?”

“That’d be grea-” Tim started, just to stop as a handful of chips pelted him in the face at the same time he heard a crash. “Really?” he snapped, opening his eyes after he’d taken a second to process what the fuck had just happened.

It wasn’t clear who had started what, but somehow the argument had escalated to throwing things at each other, and Jason had somehow managed to flip the bowl of chips over dramatically, causing the entire kitchen to get covered in them.

Immediately, a chorus of defenses and lame excuses came pouring out of his brothers’ mouths, as each one talked over the other.

“Jason wouldn’t quit-”

“If the demon hadn’t thrown-”

“Don’t call me-”

“I wouldn’t have thrown it if-”

“Boys,” Tim boomed, silencing the entire room as he glowered at the two, “I don’t even care. Just fix this.” He motioned to the chips everywhere and turned around, not even allowing time for arguments.

Paul was busy scrubbing the potatoes clean of dirt, an amused grin not even remotely hidden on his face.

“Did you just,” Jason finally said, his voice half shocked half offended, “ _scold_ me? You are not my- You can’t just- What the _fuck_? _”_

Tim spun around to see an adequately chagrined Damian collecting chips up off the counter, but a clearly annoyed Jason just glaring at him. “Clean your mess up, Jason.”

A whole plethora of emotions flickered across Jason’s face before a scowl settled in. “I am not one of your kids,” he said darkly, “you cannot tell me what to do.”

“You live in my house, don’t you?” Tim challenged, internally wincing at his own words. Such a weak argument. So damn _dad_ of him, too. But Jason had brought this upon himself.

Jason tensed and narrowed his eyes at Tim, squaring his shoulder. “I’ve been on my own since I was _fifteen.”_

“You act like that makes you special.”

Sure, Tim’s childhood was loads better when compared to Jason, but Jason wasn’t the only one with traumas in his life. He wasn’t the only one thrown into a strange world at around 15 or 16 and forced to rely on himself without any way to contact Bruce.

It took a second, but Jason seemed to catch the meaning of Tim’s words and visibly deflated.

“So, um,” Molly said from a few feet behind Damian, drawing everyone’s eyes to her, “Mom said to tell you we’re watching the parade if you wanted to join us…”

Damian let out a quiet, “No thanks,” while he finished cleaning up the counter and chairs, turning to dump the chips in the trash.

“Yeah, that sounds, uh,” Jason mumbled before clearing his throat and speaking a bit louder, and what could only be described as a mask of indifference and aloofness took over his features, “that sounds better than hanging out with these nerds.”

Tim just rolled his eyes as he grabbed one of the potato peelers and began skinning the freshly washed vegetables.

“I’m going to help with the potatoes, sweetheart,” Paul said, his cheery smile feeling completely out of place in the somber atmosphere they’d created.

Yeah. Tim was pretty sure he’d rather have a quiet Thanksgiving just him and Damian than one as tense as this.

After they’d been alone for a few minutes, or as alone as they could be with the living room on the other side of the large open-floor-plan apartment, such as it was, Damian abruptly said, “I’m sorry, Tim.”

At least it was large enough and set up in such a way that conversation didn’t usually travel between the kitchen and living room, unless voices were raised. Especially when the TV was turned up loud and an equally loud conversation was taking place in the living room.

Tim set his potato and peeler down and walked over to Damian, opening his arms to the teenager. Damian paused in his sweeping and accepted Tim’s hug, bending down a bit so they were closer to the same height. He might be half a head taller, these days, but he was still Tim’s _little_ brother.

“Don’t let him get you all riled up,” Tim said softly, patting Damian on the back before letting go.

“I try,” Damian said, frowning, “but he’s always been good at pressing every button.”

“Pretty sure it’s a defense mechanism,” Tim said simply as he resumed his peeling duties, “he knows how to deal with people angry with him, you know?”

Paul started dicing the already peeled potatoes, tossing the resulting cubes into the pot. “Why’s he living with you now?” Paul asked, his face clearly carefully blank.

Yep. They were doing this weren’t they?

Tim sighed heavily and returned to peeling potatoes. “He has nowhere else to go.”

“Where has he been these past seven years?”

“It,” Tim floundered, unsure of how to respond. The truth was too outlandish to be believable. He wasn’t even sure Paul would be willing to believe him. “It’s complicated,” Tim finished lamely.

“Then uncomplicate it,” Paul said patiently, but not without a slight bite of annoyance, “explain it to me.”

Damian, finished now cleaning up the mess Jason had technically made, sat back down across from them, making eye contact with Tim.

A conversation passed silently between them, the most minute shrug of a shoulder, twitch of a muscle, shake of the head saying just as much to each other as they could with words.

Damian was in favor of just coming clean with the man, while Tim was apprehensive about it. There was something terrifying about admitting to the guy who had essentially been a dad to him for years that he’d lied about most of his past.

In the end, Damian wasn’t going to step on Tim’s toes but also wouldn’t outright lie to the man.

Tim could respect that. Paul had been good to Damian, too.

“Okay,” Paul said tiredly when neither boy volunteered any information, “I’m going to venture that he was living with ‘Bruce’ until he was 15.”

“Well,” Tim said, unsure how to answer that. Because if he said ‘yes,’ which was absolutely the truth, it would be implying that Bruce wasn’t dead, because Jason was 15 only four years ago, for him. Eleven years ago, for him and Damian.

But… then again.

Paul already knew he lied about his age. Lied about his name. And so far, it hadn’t ruined anything.

Nodding, Tim sighed and finished peeling the final potato, then dropped it in the bowl for Paul to dice. “Yeah, he did.”

“Does Bruce know where you guys are?” Paul asked, and he almost sounded apprehensive?

“We don’t know,” Damian answered honestly, while he watched Tim fill the pot of potatoes with water, “Jason said he knew vaguely where we are, but not specifically.”

Tim shrugged as he put the pot on the stove and turned on a burner, “We’re expecting him to find us any day.”

At that, Paul tensed and looked back and forth between Tim and Damian, before saying very sternly, “If you need any help, let me know. Seriously, boys. With anything.”

“Not much to help with,” Tim said as he went to sit next to Damian at the counter, “it’s just a waiting game at this point. He’ll get here when he gets here.”

Looking at the boys incredulously, Paul just stared for a solid minute before he finally said, “Look. I didn’t want to tell you this, because I didn’t want to alarm you, but I asked for some advice on you guys several years back.”

Tim raised an eyebrow and exchanged a quick look with Damian. “What do you mean?”

“I,” the man said, taking a deep breath before he continued, “I was concerned. I kept my questions in the hypothetical and didn’t use name or even genders, so don’t worry about that. I didn’t want to get you boys in trouble for the fraud you committed to get away, but-”

“Wait, what?” Tim asked, shaking his head in confusion. What the heck was Paul even talking about?

Paul continued, undeterred, “I asked one of my friends in the NYPD if there was something they could do for you boys, and he said that with a good lawyer you could get fraud charges dropped in exchange for testimony on what you went through as kids, so if ever necessary, it would still be possible to press charges against him and get him _locked up._ So you don’t have to worry about him showing up again one day.”

Tim just sat there, blinking slowly at Paul while everything the man had said processed. Charges. Press charges. Testimony. Against Bruce. To get him locked up.

“I’m a little lost,” Damian said, shifting a bit so he was leaning forward on the counter, “what do you think our father did that deserves jail time?”

The man ran a hand through his hair and examined each boy carefully before he said, “I thought we were past the lying and deceiving.”

“Paul-” Tim tried, because he was pretty sure the man was working off false information. Faulty assumptions. Although he wasn’t quite sure how he’d come to this conclusion, based on the evidence. Especially not _years_ _ago,_ apparently.

“No, Tim. I get that you boys don’t want to talk about your pasts. I fully understand, with the amount of- the severity of-” Paul sighed, “Tim, think hard about why you ran away. Do you really want him back in your life? Think about Damian. Your wife and daughter.”

“I don’t know where you got the idea that Bruce abused us,” Tim said carefully, “but it’s wrong. We didn’t ‘run away’ or ‘get away’ from him.”

“Enough of this,” Paul said sharply, “I  _know_ you’ve been shot, Timothy. And stabbed. Multiple times. The doctors told me back when you were in the hospital that there was evidence you’d been tortured and no medical records to explain away the injuries.”

Tim blanched. He could feel his head, his heart beat, see the blood pounding through his eyes. Everything as he tried to keep himself calm and collected. Paul. Had known. About his injuries sustained as Robin. _Since year two._

“And I’ve seen similar injuries on Damian. I just,” Paul paused as he took in a short, shaky breath, then rounded the counter to stand right between Tim and Damian, wrapping his arms around both their shoulders, “I’m prouder of you two than you can even fathom, everything you’ve been through, to be standing here as happy and strong as you are. I don’t want you boys to lose what you’ve built.”

“Paul,” Tim said numbly, “this is one huge misunderstanding.”

“Father was not the cause of our injuries,” Damian added, just as wearily.

The man tightened his hold and dragged the two closer to him in a hug. “Boys…”

“No,” Tim said, pulling away so he could look at Paul, “I’m not lying to you. I’m _not._ There’s a lot more going on here than you know.”

“We didn’t run away,” Damian added, “we were quite literally kidnapped from Father and sent here, against our will.”

Paul let go and pulled a stool over so he could sit between the boys, then sat there, looking at them both expectantly.

“You know the project we’ve been working on? The multiverse?” Tim began, readying himself for the long conversation.

When the man nodded, Tim continued, “Well. We were working on it so hard because Damian and I, and Jason, are actually from a different universe.”

“We were kidnapped and sent here by some men trying to hurt our father about a week before we met you,” Damian added, nodding.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever as Paul examined them with narrowed eyes. Tim felt incredibly judged, in that moment, as he waited for his former-boss-turned-father-figure to decide whether he believed Tim.

It lasted so long, actually, that the timer for the potatoes went off, and Tim scrambled to his feet to check on them.

“Have you ever read the _Batman_ comics?” Damian ventured as Tim removed the done potatoes from heat and drained most of the water. The teenager went over a brief explanation of who they were from the universe, and what they did as a hobby that resulted in their injuries.

Without even looking, Tim could just hear the disbelief written all over Paul’s face and expressions.

“Really, now?” he said tiredly, as if he had been listening to more and more elaborate lies and was at the point of not even arguing back, because clearly Tim and Damian weren’t going to cooperate.

“I can prove it,” Damian said indignantly, as he noisily scooted away from the counter and bounded off to his bedroom.

Tim busied himself mashing the potatoes, pointedly not continuing the conversation. He really wasn’t sure what to say to Paul to convince him. He was 80% certain Paul hadn’t believed that the multiverse truly existed, regardless of what results Tim’s experiments yielded, just like a lot of scientists in his field, actually. He knew Tim had created a portal but wasn’t sold on where the portal was leading.

When Damian returned, he spread an entire pile of photographs across the counter for Paul to look at. It was all those pictures Tim had printed for their first Christmas of them all in uniform. “Look,” the teen said, “this is us in our vigilante forms. All those injuries you saw, they were caused by our crime fighting, not by our dad.”

“Here’s a good picture of him,” Damian said, pointing down to the iconic picture of Bruce looking affectionately at Damian, “ _he_ was not abusing us. At all. Besides, Father did not even take me in until nine months before we were stranded here. The majority of _my_ injuries were caused by the training I withstood while in my mother and grandfather’s care. _Not_ my life with the Waynes.”

Paul sighed, again, and carded through the photos Damian had brought before finally addressing both brothers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Damian was _ten_ when you boys got here.”

Tim grabbed the coconut and almond milks he was going to use in the potatoes, so Bristol could eat them, and the vegan butter from the fridge and started measuring out what he needed to add to the newly mashed potatoes. He needed garlic, too.

“Yes,” he said after a few seconds of silence, realizing Paul was waiting for actual confirmation of his statement.

“And you don’t see _that_ as abusive?” he demanded, gesturing to the photos of Damian fighting crime.

Tim simply shrugged and dug out the head of garlic he kept in the cabinet to mince up a few cloves.

Paul stepped closer to where Tim was working and leaned back against the counter, so he could face both Damian and Tim at the same time. “Tim, you have a daughter. You can’t honestly tell me you’d support, no, actively put her into harm’s way to the extent that she gets  _shot._ Before she loses all her _baby teeth._ ”

That gave Tim pause in his task. This was his and Kyla’s biggest fear. One Kyla had been hiding from Tim for a while but had finally voiced on their way home from the hospital with the little girl. One they had discussed briefly only a few times. But one that weighed heavily on Tim’s heart.

Neither of them wanted her out on the streets. In harm’s way. Risking her life. Tim was perfectly content with her _never_ going into the ‘family business,’ but was aware that once she was 18, it was her choice. He’d never stop her, at that point, but starting before then was going to be a tough sale.

Even if she spent her life training. Never to the extent of Damian. Never forced or expected. But even then, Tim couldn’t see himself letting his precious little girl, his princess, face down death on a nightly basis. Not when it was his job to keep her alive. To love her and protect her.

“I wouldn’t,” Tim said numbly.

“It’s different there,” Damian tried, defensively, “it’s perfectly normal to get into the superhero business as a child.

“I don’t care,” Paul said harshly, “A child is a child is a child, regardless of what universe they are from, and no adult should have ever put you in that situation.”

“I would have gone out with or without his support,” Damian protested, “At least with it he was protecting me.”

Paul laughed. He actually laughed, kind of hysterically. “That is a weak excuse,” he said, both his hands moving now with his words, animating his thoughts as though doing so would get his point across better, “Children try to get away with doing things they aren’t allowed to do. It’s what they do. It’s our job as parents to put an end to it and _protect_ them. Not encourage activities that are bound to get them killed.”

All Tim wanted to do in that moment was go get Bristol and hug her tightly. Cling to her and never let her go, because Paul was absolutely right. Paul was echoing the thoughts he’d been wrestling with for months. Years, almost.

“Batman needs a Robin,” Damian argued, his determination faltering as Tim continued to keep quiet, “without a Robin, he has nothing to fight for. No one to fight for. Robin is the light to Batman’s darkness, the one who keeps him on the side of good. Keeps him alive.”

“A grown man needs a _child_ to protect him?” Paul nearly boomed, “Do you hear yourself?”

It came to Tim’s attention that the apartment had gone deathly silent during their argument, and he looked over to see everyone in the living room pointedly not looking over, but obviously listening to every word.

Damian and Paul seemed to notice, too, because they both looked over and Paul offered a sheepish, “Sorry,” to the group.

“Let’s just drop it for now,” Tim said, attempting to just end the conversation entirely, “and agree to disagree.” The turkey was about done, and once it had rested and the food they’d prepared the day before got heated up, it would be time to eat. He’d rather they not be all tense and defensive during the actual meal. “If you don’t want to meet Bruce when he gets here, Paul, I won’t make you. But we do love him, and I would love for you two to meet.”

“Tim,” Paul sighed, “I’d do anything for you. You know that. But I can’t promise I’d be able to hold my tongue.”

With a half-smile, Tim patted Paul’s back as he went across the kitchen for a serving dish for the mashed potatoes. “Good enough for me.”

\----

Thanksgiving dinner went much smoother than the preparation time had gone. Last second, they realized they hadn’t made the gravy, but Laura swooped in and put it together, because just as Tim was about to do it Bristol came running out of her room and straight to Tim, demanding “Daddy up!” and then refusing to be set down again.

And that lasted all throughout dinner. She didn’t even want to sit in her high chair to eat, preferring to sit right in Tim’s lap and eat off his plate. Tim didn’t mind too much. It meant eating slower, himself, because for every bite he ate, he had to feet Bris a bite.

But, deep-down, Tim was relishing every single second of it. There were six people in the room, and Bristol had chosen him to grace with her clinginess.

He knew from experience that children grew up way too fast, so he was going to enjoy every single second.

When they went around the table to share what they were thankful for, most of them shared the standard reply. Friends. Family. Good food. The day off.

Damian, with a red face and embarrassed smile, said, “everything,” elaborating to mean everything that had happened over the last several years that led up to all these people sitting around the table with him.

Bristol, at 18-months-old, had enough basic understanding of English to answer ‘what makes you happy’ with a list of words. While they couldn’t understand most of what she was babbling, they did recognize the names she had for her family, including ‘pa’ and ‘ora,’ meaning Paul and Laura.

By the end of dinner, Tim was content. Even if his family fought sometimes, he still loved them all dearly. Even Jason. And nothing reminded him more of that than the holidays.

Tim loved the holidays.

\----

As the semester start wrapping up, Tim found himself incredibly busy. It was strange being on the professor side of finals week. He had so many papers to grade, projects to review, and finals to turn back. All before the final grade deadline.

It was insane.

But somehow, he still made time for dinner each night.

It was during one of those dinners that Jason abruptly spoke up, “So, this identity you created for me…”

“Yeah?” Tim asked absently as he tore up another piece of chicken to feed Bristol. She’d devoured the first piece so quickly.

“Is it good enough to pass a background check?”

Tim looked up from his task and questioningly at Jason. “Jay, it’s good enough that you’ll have to file a tax return if you get a job.”

“So, is that a yes?” Jason said impatiently, shifting slightly under Tim’s gaze.

“Yes.”

Bristol started squealing impatiently, making grabby hands for the food in Tim’s hands. She didn’t care about anything but getting more food on her tray. “Okay, okay, it’s coming. Be patient.”

“What are you doing that requires a background check?” Kyla asked curiously, “are you thinking about getting a job.”

“You’re not my real mom,” Jason mocked, shoving a piece of the baked chicken in his mouth, then mumbling with a full mouth, “it’s none of your business.”

Damian snorted and looked up from his phone, where he was probably just scrolling through Instagram, because _that_ was appropriate to do at the dinner table. “You should thank Tim for that, Jason. It’s not like you deserve to pass a background check. You couldn’t back home.”

“It’s not my fault I’m dead,” Jason snapped, slinging his fork in Damian’s direction, causing a couple peas he’d stabbed onto it to fly toward Damian.

Blinking at the sudden pelting of peas, Damian glowered at Jason, but before either boy could continue escalating the argument, Tim said, “All you had to do was ask me to correct the records, Jason.”

“Nah,” the teen said, shrugging off Damian’s glare, “I like being dead. Way better than _paying taxes._ Seriously, Timbo, if we’re still here in friggen April I’m making you do my taxes.”

“It’s not even that hard,” Tim whined as he dropped the last chunk of chicken onto his daughter’s tray, at the same time Kyla said, “So you _are_ getting a job!”

“Not your business,” Jason said, scraping up the last piece of food off his plate and shoving it in his mouth as he stood, “now good night. I’m going to bed.”

“It’s 7:30,” Damian drawled, back to scrolling on his phone.

As he passed, Jason pushed at Damian’s head slightly aggressively, but mostly playfully, Tim hoped, at least, and said, “clean up those peas, demon, food belongs _on your plate_ , not the table.”

Damian scowled and grabbed the roll off his plate, quickly hurling it at Jason’s retreating form. “Pick up that roll, Jason, food doesn’t belong on the floor.”

Instead of turning around to fight Damian, Jason burst out into laughter and snatched the roll off the floor, immediately taking a bite out of it as he continued off to his room.

And Damian just sat there, staring at the table as the rest of them went back to eating.

\----

As it turned out, Jason applied to volunteer at a mission in the city, working specifically with homeless children.

Tim wasn’t supposed to know that, of course. He used his skills to trace the background check that was run against ‘Jason Harper’ and figured it out from there.

Jason had been wanting, desperately, to go out as the Red Hood ever since he’d arrived, but Tim and Damian had managed to convince him that it was a terrible idea to do so. Vigilantes were not what the city needed.

The teen had, apparently, figured out what the city needed. And that was help for the various charities providing services to the homeless. And since Jason had spent much of his life as a ‘street kid,’ it was a great idea that he work directly with homeless children. He’d be able to relate and would be an all-around good role model for the kiddos.

Tim greatly approved of Jason’s work.

But he couldn’t tell him that. Because Jason hadn’t told Tim what he was doing.

One evening a few days before Christmas, Tim came out of his daughter’s room after putting her down for the night to find Jason miserably sprawled out across the couch.

“Everything okay?” Tim asked as he grabbed the remote and planted himself on the opposite couch. He was half way through _The Office and_ wanted to continue with his binge.

Tim waited patiently as he pulled up the show on the TV and found where he’d left off, all the while Jason stayed on the couch, breathing heavily as he obviously debated with himself whether he should speak. Tim didn’t care either way, if he did, but would probably prefer his annoying older/younger brother not keep his issues all bottled up. If only for the sanity of the entire family.

“How did you do this?” Jason eventually said, throwing his arm up over his eyes dramatically, “I don’t get how you just…did it so easily.”

“Did what?” Tim asked, kicking his feet up on the couch next to him to settle down for a while.

The teen sighed heavily and said, “Just quit being Red Robin. Quit helping people. Just like that. I feel like I’m doing nothing important. Noting.”

Tim laid his head back and stared up at the ceiling, as if the plaster would help him remember their early days in this world. “I was a little preoccupied,” he eventually said, “with trying to keep us alive to really worry about it. By the time I stopped seeing our new life as a mission, I was so established in a routine I didn’t have time to miss it.”

“And now?” the teen questioned, finally looking over at Tim.

“Now I have a family. I’ve had Damian the entire time and believe me he took _a lot_ of my time in the early days. If he was home, he had my attention. And now I have Kyla and Bristol, too. And you.”

“I don’t need your attention,” Jason said dryly.

“But you have it,” Tim replied, shrugging, “Raising a family is important, Jay. Being there for my family is the most important thing I could ever do. So, it hasn’t been hard for me to not be Red Robin.”

“You’ve turned into such a sap,” Jason groaned, burying his face back behind his elbow, “I’m not going out and getting a _kid_.”

“No, of course not. Keep volunteering with those homeless kids, Jay. You may not be shooting criminals, but that’s still important work.”

“Still a stalker, though,” he grumbled, “I just don’t feel like I’m doing _enough.”_

“Did you ever feel like you were doing enough?” Tim asked rhetorically.

“Hrn,” was all he said in response.

\----

“Do you think it was abusive of Bruce to let us be Robins?” Tim asked one night in early January, staring up at the ceiling as he lay in bed. It had been well over a month since the conversation with Paul, but he hadn’t been able to shake the words.

“I thought you loved being Robin,” Kyla said as she finished getting changed into her pajamas.

“Yeah,” Tim said, rubbing at his eyes, “I did.”

His wife tossed her clothes into the hamper and flipped off the overhead light, leaving on the lamps beside the bed on before sitting next to Tim on the bed. “Why are you wondering if it was abusive, then?”

“I’m not saying _I_ was abused,” Tim said, propping himself up a bit on his elbows, “Just that- was it- ugh,” he groaned, letting out a muffled frustrated growl as he flopped back down dramatically, “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Kyla ran her hand through Tim’s hair a few times, smiling sweetly before saying, “I’ll admit I don’t understand the frame of mind required to allow your child to go into danger like that every night.”

“None of us were Bruce’s kids before we were Robin. Not really. Jason and Dick were living with him for a bit before, but not too terribly long. I was just the annoying neighbor kid who showed up one day and demanded I be Robin.”

“Fine,” she amended, “I don’t understand the frame of mind to allow _any_ child into combat like that.”

“But I wanted it,” Tim said, turning his head so he was looking up at his wife, “and that’s where I keep getting stuck.”

“Stuck?” she said, putting her hand back in his hair and twirling it around her fingers.

He nodded, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “I wanted to be Robin so bad. Batman _needed_ a Robin. At the rate he was going, he was going to get himself killed. Or kill someone. He needed a Robin to reign him in and keep him on the side of good. I  _needed_ to be Robin.”

Tim took a deep breath before continuing, finding great comfort in Kyla’s continued caressing. “It was my choice. Bruce was against it at first. I was never forced into it or even forced to continue. But I keep getting stuck on the fact that I was _thirteen._ No matter how smart or mature or _right_ they are, 13-year-olds can’t legally consent to anything.”

It made Tim angry, sometimes, when thinking about it. The mere fact that Bruce allowed and encouraged _children_ to fight crime with him. To be vigilantes. Superheroes. To risk their lives on a nightly basis.

But being Robin was the best thing that had _ever happened_ to Tim. He honestly wasn’t sure where he’d be in life without Robin. Would he even be alive? Would the neglect of his parents eventually driven him to suicide? Or would he be just another rich socialite of Gotham, running Drake Industries? Would he be married? Would he have a daughter?

Being Robin was what gave him his first family. Gave him a dad that actually loved and cared about him. Paid him attention and actually noticed when he was down. Gave him brothers and friends and an entire purpose in life. Gave him Damian. Hell, in an indirect way, it’s what got him trapped in _this_ world, which eventually led to having Bristol and marrying Kyla.

Robin was the single greatest thing that ever happened to him and he would _never_ change that detail of his past.

But just because something was good doesn’t mean it was _right._

“Honey,” she said, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Tim’s forehead, “what’s the point in dwelling on this?”

Closing his eyes, Tim whispered, “I don’t want Bristol in that world.”

“In your world?” she questioned, laying down completely, snuggled up against Tim.

Tim wrapped his arm around her and said, “The superhero world. I don’t want her risking her life every night. It’s completely fucked up that children are needed to be heroes, are needed to fight. It’s just a truth of the world, and I did so much good during my run, but I don’t want my daughter out there.”

“If we’re strict with them,” she consoled, “we shouldn’t have to worry.”

Tim scrunched his eyebrows and said, “Them?” then opened his eyes and sat up a bit, “You aren’t… are you?”

Kyla laughed, “No,” patting Tim on the chest to get him to lie back down, “But, you know, in a few years. It might be nice to give Bristol a sibling. Give her what you and Damian have.”

“Damian,” Tim said, relaxing again, “God, Damian. He’s going to want to be Robin again, you know? He misses it so much, and with this weird time thing Bruce didn’t have a chance to find someone to replace him. We’ll get back and Damian will see a need for him and he’ll jump right back on the streets.” He forced out a quiet laugh as he rubbed at his face. It was going to be hard to see that.

“He’s almost 18,” Kyla pointed out.

“I know,” he said solemnly. He actually _was_ already 18, if they paid any attention to those 44 days the calendars had been off when they arrived in this world. But they seriously hadn’t paid attention to that in years.

It was overwhelming to think about. How long they’d been in this world. His 10-year-old devil spawn little brat of a brother was a man, now. He was all grown up. A happy, healthy, kind 18-year-old man. Tim was eternally grateful the brat had the opportunity to completely grow up before they went home, because he was afraid to know what would have happened to him had they gone home sooner. Afraid to know whether he would have died as Robin, just as he did in the comics.

“I just… I want him to be happy. I want them both to be happy and healthy and _safe._ ”

\----

Damian’s 18th birthday was surreal.

Absolutely insane.

Not because they did anything crazy, because they didn’t. Just a peaceful dinner at his favorite place with all his favorite people. The Blackwells. Frank. Some of his theater friends.

It was insane because _Damian was an adult._

A real life, fully grown, no-longer-Tim’s-responsibility adult.

Although Tim made it perfectly clear that turning 18 meant nothing when it came to anything between the two of them. Damian was welcome in his home forever, no rent charged. No anything expected from him.

‘You’re mine,’ Tim had almost said. It didn’t matter whether Tim had legal custody of the kid, he was always going to be _his_ kid. No matter how tall or old he was.

Damian was most excited about no longer being bound by child labor laws. His school had worked with him for the spring semester, allowing him to take a few filler classes just until his birthday, so he could adhere to the labor laws until he was 18.

Now that he was, he was being allowed to drop all but two classes, the only two he needed to graduate, and work full time on his show. That would allow him to graduate with his class, while still pursuing his career. And, despite being a science and technology focused school, the administration was remarkably supportive.

The brat was _absolutely ecstatic._ Because that meant taking over as the alternate for Jack Kelly, which meant he’d be the lead. On a Broadway production. The following Tuesday.

And who wouldn’t be ecstatic about that?

“I got you tickets,” Damian said as he came back late one night from the final rehearsal before his first lead performance. He’d been in the show for months, at that point, but had never played the part of Jack Kelly outside dress rehearsals. So, while Tim and them had seen the kid in the show a couple times, they hadn’t seen him lead.

Tim had gotten over his hatred for musical theater years ago and was quite excited to see the performance. “We’ll be there, kiddo,” he said, grinning widely, “bet you’ll kill it.”

“He is good at killing,” Jason said.

“Not as good as you,” Damian replied dryly, retreating to the kitchen for a snack, “Keep it up and you’ll find yourself uninvited.”

“Nah,” Jason laughed, “You’d never do that. I’m your favorite.”

Damian just half smiled and said, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

\----

And life moved on. February passed as winter turned to Spring, and March arrived, bringing warmer weather, but no Bruce or Dick.

It had been so long, actually, that Tim quit thinking about it as much. He could look at Jason now and not immediately think ‘Bruce is on his way.’ Because Jason was just _there_ now. He was his annoying little brother, just a year and a half older than Damian.

The two of them bickered nonstop in a way that exasperated Tim and brought a smile to his face. Because Damian had a brother in the way Tim had with Dick. He had an older brother he didn’t have to listen to, didn’t see as an authority figure. And Jason, similarly, had a brother. Something he didn’t really have back in Gotham, considering he kept himself isolated from the rest of them.

He had his friends, and Roy Harper was likely _like_ a brother to Jason. But it was good for him to _have_ one. And Jason and Damian were so much alike in their life experiences, that it was good for both of them.

Bristol’s second birthday was quickly approaching, less than two months away, and Tim marveled at how far she’d come since her terrifying birth.

She was talking _so well_ now. It hit Tim the hardest one morning how fast she was growing up when he knelt down to kiss her goodbye on his way out and said, “Guess what?” just like he did every morning.

Usually, the little girl just grinned at her daddy’s attention, but that morning she said, in a garbled toddler accent, “I love you,” to Tim.

And it took Tim a second to fully comprehend it, because she had never said it before. But then he smiled widely and said, “I love you, too,” planting a kiss in her hair. He _knew_ she was likely just parroting what he always said after saying ‘guess what?’ but he’d be a giant lair if he said he didn’t smile the entire day after that.

His life was _perfect._

\----

“You know,” Tim said to Kyla one night as he read through one of his students’ lab reports, “I think I want to continue being a professor.”

“When we move to Gotham?” she questioned, playing a puzzle game on her iPad next to him, “Not CEO and Red Robin or whatever?”

“I realized years ago that I didn’t want to be Red Robin anymore,” he said matter-of-factly, “and really my plan had never been to be anything more beyond Robin. But once you’re in that life, it’s impossible to get out.”

“Oh,” she said, dragging her finger across the screen while she placed a piece where it belonged, “but it’s only been three weeks and a few days in your world. There, you haven’t quit. Not in their minds.”

Tim sighed, “I know. That’s what worries me.”

\----

Late one night in the second week of March, Tim, Kyla, and Jason were sitting in the living room watching _Friends,_ because Kyla loved torturing them, while Bristol slept and Damian performed in his little musical. It had been a fairly quiet night, and Tim had drifted off to sleep a couple times with Kyla resting against him.

He had actually been half asleep when Jason randomly said, “Oh fuck,” and started moving around rather frantically.

“What?” Tim said, opening his eyes to look over at the teen, who was fumbling with something he’d pulled from his pocket and immediately dropped into the couch cusion.

“Wait, wait, I’m here,” Jason said quickly, only confusing Tim more. Was Jason on the phone? Was it his phone he dropped?

“Jay, who are you talking to?” Kyla asked, pausing her show, because apparently the girl couldn’t miss a single moment of a show she’d watched _a million times._

Then, Jason finally found what he’d dropped and Tim’s eyes went wide. Because it was a communicator.

Just like the one he’d had as Red Robin.

He didn’t even know Jason had one. But of _course_ he’d have one. He was currently on a mission for Bruce, after all.

“B?” Jason said, “stop growling at me oh my God.”

Tim found himself sitting up all of a sudden, Kyla no longer resting against him, as he leaned forward, his hands tightly gripping the cushion beneath him, watching Jason carefully.

_Jason was talking to Bruce._

He could feel every heartbeat. Every breath he took as he watched Jason exaggerate an eye roll and scoff into the comm.

“Would you quit yelling at me. I’m _fine,_ and I found the two little bat brats, so _you’re welcome.”_

“Where is he?” Tim asked, probably at the same time as Bruce did, because Jason threw his arms up in the air in exasperation.

“Are you sure Tim ain’t your real son?” he whined, “You two are the same fucking person. Tim: he’s on the roof. Bruce: we’re in Tim’s apartment.”

“On the roof,” Tim repeated, jumping to his feet, “I’ll go get him. Tell him not to break in, I don’t want to deal with the police tonight.”

“Timbers says don’t be an ass, he’ll come get you,” Jason helpfully said.

“Asshole,” Tim shouted as he slipped on his jacket and shoes. “Be right back, Ky,” he added hastily as he unlocked the doors and grabbed his keys off the hook.

He felt kind of bad he’d just totally left her in the dust, but _holy shit._

_Bruce was on the roof._

The stairwell existed in a time vortex, Tim was convinced. Because the trek up the five flights to the roof–the sprint up them, actually–was both the longest and shortest minute of his entire life.

All the nerves, all the frustration, everything was bubbling up in Tim. Threatening to make him ill. Right in the stairwell. He could feel the blood in his hands, the shaky anxiety building up so hard that he thought he might burst. And in that moment, he realized how much _he wanted this._

Even with all his concerns. All his anxieties and worries about heading home, _he wanted this._

He desperately missed Bruce.

Even after all these years, he was still that little kid. That 13-year-old, reveling in his adoptive dad’s presence. Craving the attention.

The door slammed open a little more violently than Tim had intended when he mashed the bar, and the noise caused the two masked figures on the roof to turn their attention immediately to him.

And Tim smiled widely.

“Tim!” Dick shouted, rushing over to where he was still standing, absolutely frozen in his glee.

He shook himself of the temporary paralysis just in time to open his arms for a hug as Dick came barreling into him.

“Oh, Tim,” Dick said, squeezing Tim so hard he was amazed he could still breathe, “I’m so happy to see you.”

“I missed you, too, Dick,” Tim said happily, returning the hug just as fiercely, “you have no idea.”

“Have you grown?” Dick joked, letting go and putting a hand on the top of Tim’s head.

“Maybe an inch,” Tim said ruefully, turning his attention to the shadowy figure that had slowly made his way over.

“It’s good to see you,” Batman said stiffly, nodding at Tim.

“Where’s my hug, _Dad_?” Tim said, grinning again, but this time a bit more deviously.

And that seemed to break Bruce, because he actually smiled and pulled down his cowl before enveloping Tim in the best hug in the history of hugs.

“I have missed you so much,” Tim mumbled into Bruce’s chest as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Out of everything he thought he’d do when he finally saw Bruce again, _cry_ was not one of them.

Bruce rested his head on the top of Tim’s and said, “Me too,” not even trying to let go of Tim.

“Ah,” Tim laughed as he finally pulled away, wiping at his eyes, “Let’s go inside before the others come looking for us or the neighbors see you guys.”

“Good idea,” Dick said, putting his arm around Tim’s shoulders, “I can’t wait to see Damian and Jason.”

Tim smiled, a little forced this time, as he opened the stairwell door and began leading them down the five flights to his floor. “Damian’s not actually home right now. He’ll be back around 1 or 2.”

“He’s not out patrolling alone, is he,” Bruce demanded from just behind him and Dick where he was following along.

“What?” Tim said, startled by the tone, “No, of course not. Vigilantes don’t exist in this world. We didn’t do any of that. He’s…” Tim faltered, unsure of how to break it to them that Damian was 18 and not 10, “Uh. Out.”

“Out,” Bruce deadpanned, clearly unconvinced.

“Yeah, out. He’ll be back, don’t worry.”

“Why are you letting him wander a strange world on his own? So late at night?” Dick questioned, tightening his hold a bit on Tim.

“Ummmm,” he said, smiling a bit nervously as they finally reached his floor, “I didn’t, at first, I swear.”

“Tim, it’s not even been a month,” Bruce pointed out as they left the stairwell and started down the hall toward Tim’s apartment.

“Right. Um. About that,” he said, pausing outside the door to his apartment and turning around, his back to the door, blocking their entrance, “There’s something you need to know.”

Tim could see the exact moment they both _noticed_ that Tim looked a bit different than they remembered. His hair was styled differently. His face a little more filled out. He _looked_ like a guy in his mid-20s. Not like a 16-year-old, and obviously they were catching on.

“Yeah,” he confirmed the unspoken questions, “time’s moving differently here. It’s going faster.”

“What?” Dick said, startled, at the same time Bruce demanded, “What is the ratio?”

Tim smiled sheepishly and ducked his head, dreading their exact reaction.

Because three weeks ago. Or three weeks and 3 or 4 days ago, for them, Damian was ten years old. He was a cute little assassin baby everyone wanted to slam into a wall. Now he’s 18. He’s 18 and tall and sweet and _singing on fucking Broadway._

“Tim?” Dick asked, frowning now, “What is it?”

And Tim didn’t know how to tell Bruce that. Didn’t know how to tell Damian’s father that he’d missed his son's entire childhood. The first ten years of it and now the last eight. He’d missed everything, and all Tim had to show for it was a collection of letters and photos and videos on a flash drive.

“Tim?” Bruce questioned, leaning down a bit so he was directly in his line of sight, “how much time has passed?”

How was he going to tell Bruce about his granddaughter? About Kyla? Just on the other side of the door was an entire life Tim had had without Bruce there. How was he going to share it all?

“Timothy,” Bruce snapped, growing impatient, clearly about ready to push Tim out of the way and barrel into the apartment.

So Tim took a deep breath, reaching backwards for the door handle as he said, “Seven years and eight months.”

He opened the door and turned to walk in, leaving his dad and brother standing there, looking absolutely horrified.


	30. Seven Years and Eight Months

“Wait,” Dick said, reaching out and grabbing Tim’s arm as he walked into the apartment, “So you’re 23? And Damian is 17...”

Tim frowned at the way Dick’s words grew slower the more he spoke, and at the way his eyes unfocused. There was probably nothing Tim could do to soften the blow. “He’s 18, actually,” Tim said sorrowfully, “I’m sorry, Dick.”

Neither man said anything more, and Tim felt an almost awkward tension fall onto the room. It was like they were all strangers again. They were strangers.

Dick and Bruce were expecting a 16-year-old Tim, a nerdy, overworked CEO and vigilante. Instead they were meeting 23-year-old Tim. A scientist and professor working toward tenure at Columbia with a wife and daughter. It was like he was a completely different person.

And that was just Tim. Damian, on the other hand…

Stepping further into the apartment, Tim motioned for his long-lost Dad and brother to follow him and said, forcing a bit more cheer into his voice, “Come in. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Tim shot Kyla a reassuring smile as he walked fully into the apartment and over to her. Kyla was standing by the couch, toying nervously with the hem of her t-shirt. He’d never actually ‘brought a girl home’ to Bruce, so he really had no idea what his father’s reaction would be. He was hoping positive. Otherwise things were about to get really awkward.

“This is–” Tim began, gesturing toward Kyla, who interrupted him as the newcomers approached them.

“Hi, I’m Kyla,” she said quickly, offering her hand to shake, “it’s really nice to meet you. Tim’s told me a lot about you.”

Dick stepped forward first and accepted the hand, “Hi. So are you…” he said, cocking his head in a way that suggested he was asking a question.

“Tim’s wife, yes,” she supplied, turning toward Bruce and offering her hand to shake, “Hi, Mr. Wayne.”

It took a lot of self-control for Tim to not snort out a laugh. Kyla being respectful was something absolutely hilarious. Had the girl been respectful six years ago and not bothered Tim while he was in the middle of a meeting, who knows where’d they even be. But then again, this was her husband’s dad. So maybe she felt that in this situation, it was warranted. Whatever.

Bruce pulled his cowl back and hesitantly took her hand, an almost blank look in his eyes. Like he wasn’t sure whether he was actually awake. “Ms… Drake?”

“Uh, Wagner, actually,” she said with a strained smile.

Yep. Awkward. Because if Bruce didn’t immediately jump to assuming Kyla hadn’t taken his name, now he was going to get to explain why neither he nor Damian were going by Wayne.

And apparently, Bruce was not going to assume anything about Kyla’s name, because he turned to Tim and mouthed, “Wagner?” It was almost amusing to see Bruce so absolutely lost.

“Damian picked it,” Tim said, wincing a bit, “we couldn’t go by ‘Wayne’ because in this world Batman is a comic book character?”

Tim grimaced as Bruce put a gloved hand to his forehead and looked searchingly between Tim and Kyla. It was too much, he could tell. They’d fed Bruce too much and now he was struggling not to explode.

“I think I need to sit down,” Bruce said finally, walking over to drop himself dramatically onto one of the chairs at the dining room table.

Tim felt bad, but there was really nothing he could do. Bruce was not a scared 10-year-old. Tim really had no idea how to handle the man. He’d spent hours upon hours for months reading child psychology books in attempt to understand Damian and learn how to help him. Those books paid off. Traumatized children? Tim could handle. Adults? Not so much.

Jason hadn’t been difficult because Jason wasn’t invested in their lives the way Bruce was. He didn’t care that he’d missed 7 years of their lives. Tim kind of got the impression he _liked_ that he missed that much time, because it let him and Damian have a fresh start, and it gave him a brother his age.

Bruce was…. Tim sighed. He should have been putting more thought in how he’d deal with Bruce before the man appeared on his roof.

Kyla seemed to know what to do, though, because she announced she was going to make tea and excused herself to the kitchen. Tea was a damn good idea. Alfred was always a huge fan of tea when they were upset, so it would likely help comfort Bruce a bit. Maybe.

Dick took a deep breath and sat down on the couch. “We’re comic book characters,” he asked hollowly, “you’re joking, right?”

Before Tim could respond, though, Jason emerged from Damian’s room with a pile of clothing in his hands and cheered, “Nope, and I’m the coolest character of us all.”

“Jason,” Dick said, grinning again at the sudden appearance of the teenager, “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, whatever, here Dickwad,” Jason said, tossing the top pile of clothes at Dick, “Damian’s clothes should fit you well-ish. Change out of that ridiculous outfit. You look stupid.”

Dick caught the clothes clumsily and held the shirt out, staring at the size of it. “Damian is 18,” he said slowly, staring at the Hamilton t-shirt Jason had picked out. He could have at least picked a shirt Damian didn’t adore, Tim thought, annoyed, because he just knew Jason had specifically chosen a shirt that would set both Dick and Damian off.

“He sure is,” Tim said, walking over to lean on the couch behind Dick, “and that’s his favorite shirt so be nice to it. Or better yet, pick a different one out of his room.”

“You change too, old man,” Jason said, shoving a set of his own clothes at Bruce. Tim could tell without Bruce even unfolding the shirt that it was Jason’s Wonder Woman shirt. The image of Bruce wearing another hero’s symbol made Tim smile. It was going to be overly amusing to see Bruce in a Wonder Woman t-shirt. Tim pondered if that’s why Jason only owned superhero-themed shirts. Just so he could force Bruce to wear one upon his eventual appearance.

“Change wherever,” Jason continued, “but stay the fuck out of my room.” The teen pointed at his door and glared at both Dick and Bruce for a second, before flinging himself down on the couch and stealing the remote from where Kyla had deposited it.

“How long have you been here?” Dick asked the teen, standing to do as he was told.

“Like seven months or something, who cares,” Jason said, waving a hand at Dick as he turned up the volume of the episode of Titans he’d selected.

Bruce silently wandered off down the hall, toward the bathroom and master bedroom, looking through the pile of clothes Jason had handed him as he went.

“Wait,” Dick said, pausing in his walk toward Damian’s room to squint at the screen, “is that me?”

“Yes, now shush. I’m in this one,” Jason scolded, turning the volume up once again.

“You’re in this one,” Dick mumbled, “what the heck? So we are legitimately fictional characters here? Are we even real?”

“Well you’re still talking, so you seem pretty real to me,” Jason quipped, shooting what looked like an annoyed glare at Dick, but Tim could tell wasn’t real. Jason was at least a little sorry that Dick had to deal with that revelation. They’d all dealt with it and it’s implications, after all.

“That’s just,” Dick said, trailing off.

Tim didn’t stick around to watch Dick stare blankly at the television. It was going to take a bit for him to really grasp the concept. Instead, he walked into the kitchen where Kyla just about had the water boiling and sat at the island. “So what do you think?”he asked, resting his chin in one of his hands.

“I think everyone’s a bit overwhelmed,” she said just as the kettle began to whistle.

“We haven’t even scratched the surface…” Tim said, frowning. They hadn’t discussed hardly anything about Damian. Or even mentioned Bristol. If Dick or Bruce had taken even a moment to look at all the pictures around the house, they’d already know about her, but neither had mentioned anything.

Would they accept her? Would Dick see her as a niece as quickly and easily as Damian and Jason had? Of course he would, right? And would Bruce see her as a granddaughter? Tim had taught her to call him ‘Grandpa Bruce,’ off a picture of him they often showed her. How would he react to that? Would it be positive? Or would he reject her and reject Kyla?

Would they even accept him?

It made Tim queasy, just thinking about it.

“Why are you scared?” Kyla asked as she poured the hot water into each of the mugs.

“I’m not,” Tim said lamely, then sighed. Because he couldn’t just lie to her. Not only did she see right through him, but it wasn’t a nice thing to do. “What if they don’t like her?”

“So far, everyone who has met Bristol has loved her, Tim,” she said, smiling softly, “Your dad and brother will be no different. Don’t agonize over pointless thoughts like that.”

But what if they don’t like you, Tim wanted to say, but couldn’t quite find the courage to voice that thought. He already knew it was an insecurity Kyla had, too. He could just see it written all over her interactions with Bruce and Dick already.

What if they don’t accept me, he thought again.

The door to Damian’s room opened, startling Tim out of his thoughts, and out walked Dick. The man was wearing a Batman t-shirt he’d apparently pilfered from Damian’s drawers and a huge dopey grin on his face.

“Damian has a lot of cool t-shirts,” Dick said as he walked over to where Tim and Kyla were sitting, “I almost put on one of the Nightwing ones but figured embarrassing him wouldn’t be a good first interaction with adult-Damian.”

“He takes teasing remarkably well,” Tim said, smiling a bit as Kyla pushed a mug of steeping tea at him, “much better than he did when he was ten.”

“Yeah, he almost never threatens to eviscerate people anymore,” Kyla added cheerfully.

“He never once threatened to do that to you,” Tim remarked dryly.

“Nah, but he tried a few times. You kept cutting him off and threatening to ground him and he’d get all pouty.”

“Oh yeah,” Tim said, smiling at the memory, “is it weird that I sometimes miss angry little Damian? He could be fun… sometimes.”

“He was adorable,” Kyla said, taking a sip of her tea.

Dick grinned wide and said, “That’s what I say! But no one ever agrees with me.”

“Well, it could be difficult to get past the constant death threats,” Tim remarked.

“But apparently you did,” Dick said, elbowing Tim a bit, “considering you’re both still alive and together! And I saw some _awesome_ pictures of you two in Damian’s room. Tim, I’m proud of you. So,” he gushed, then shifted tones to playful and asked Kyla, “how long have you two known each other? How did you meet?”

“Well,” Kyla began, her grin growing wide as she answered the question, “it all started junior year in Anderson’s physics class. He was the cutest freaking guy I had seen on the entirety of the NYU campus, and I just knew I had to get to know him-”

“Wait,” Tim interrupted, “are you saying you had a crush on me since undergrad?”

“Yes,” Kyla said, still smiling, “didn’t you know that?”

“But you always teased me for being, and I quote, ‘like 15.’ If you had a crush on me, why’d you always accuse me of being a literal child?”

“First,” the girl retorted, holding out a finger as if she were going to have multiple points, “I thought you were 19 like you said, I was just _teasing_. And second, no one ever accused me of being _good_ at flirting.”

“This is beautiful,” Dick said, and Tim could punch him and his stupid dopey smiling face.

Tim decided to ignore Dick, though, and simply looked down at the ring on his own finger, then up at Kyla, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, true,” she conceded, “Obviously I got what I wanted eventually.”

“I want the whole story,” Dick demanded, clearly intrigued by the two of them.

“I’ll let you field that one,” Tim said, standing, “I’m going to go figure out what’s taking Bruce so long.”

Kyla nodded, already plunging deeper into the story of how they met, her usual energy and excitement shining through the nerves she’d managed to shake already.

Leave it to Dick to put anyone at ease.

 

Tim wasn’t at all surprised to find Bruce standing over his daughter’s crib, just staring at the sleeping infant. It wasn’t difficult, after all, to stumble into the nursery from his and Kyla’s room.

“Her name is Bristol,” Tim said in a hushed tone as he approached the man, “She’s 22 months old.”

Bruce nodded and moved his hand in an aborted attempt to reach down and touch the baby. “May I?” he whispered, tearing his eyes away from Bristol to give Tim a longing gaze.

“Yeah,” Tim said, easy, happily, “she’s a heavy sleeper. That girl would sleep right through the apocalypse if given the opportunity.”

 _When_ given the opportunity, Tim thought darkly.

“You have a daughter,” Bruce said solemnly as he gently reached down to rest a hand on Bristol’s back.

Tim smiled and stepped forward, reaching down to lift Bristol out of her crib. She whined slightly at the loss of heat from the mattress, then settled contentedly into Bruce’s arms as Tim thrust her into them.

Bruce hesitated, then stood stiffly as Bristol snuggled down into him, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his neck. In her sleep, she probably thought Bruce was Jason, or just didn’t care who it was, as long as they were hugging onto her. Bristol loved cuddles.

After the baby let out a content sigh and slipped back into deep slumber, Bruce rested his hand on her back and his cheek on her head.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Bruce whispered, looking over to Tim just after he snapped a picture of the sight on his phone.

“Neither was I,” Tim said, smiling at the photo, “but she was the best damn surprise I’ve ever received.”

“But you’re just a kid,” Bruce said mournfully, shifting Bristol a bit in his arms so he was cradling her, her face visible to him.

“I haven’t been a kid for a long time, Bruce,” Tim pointed out. He hadn’t really been a kid anymore in Gotham, either. He was living on his own. Emancipated, working full time. He may have been 16-years-old, but he had been living as an adult for quite a while by the time he got stuck here.

And in reality, had Tim ever been a kid? _Could_ he have been?

Bruce didn’t look up from Bristol’s face and sighed, long and loud, then looked around the room before stepping back into the main bedroom to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

Tim frowned and followed his father, curious.

Now that he was sitting, Bruce freed up one of his hands to gently run his fingers along the side of Bristol’s face, caressing the sleeping toddler in a soft and gentle manner he’d never seen from Bruce.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you,” the man finally said, brushing his thumb over the child’s cheek.

Tim scowled just as Bruce looked up and amended, “I meant, growing up on your own, alone, stranded in another universe. I- I should have worked harder. I should have realized sooner what had happened. I…”

“Bruce,” Tim said tiredly, feeling the fight drain away that he’d had bubble up at the wrong implication that Bruce didn’t want Bristol, leaving Tim just a tired shell of a person. The night had already drained him, and they’d barely even talked yet. They had so much ground to cover still. “I have no doubt you got here as fast as you could. It’s not your fault time moved so much quicker here.”

“You must have thought I gave up on you,” Bruce said, pained, his attention turned back down to the sleeping child.

“Never,” Tim said easily, allowing a small smile to slip onto his lips as he sat down next to Bruce, “not once.”

“I’m sorry, Tim,” Bruce said anyway, apparently deciding to ignore Tim.

“It’s not your fault,” Tim insisted, leaning his head against his dad’s shoulder, staring down at his sleeping daughter. She was so content, so peaceful, in the arms of her long-lost grandpa. Brushing back the girl’s ridiculously thick hair, Tim continued, “You have no idea how badly I missed you, though.”

Or maybe he did know. Bruce grew up without his parents, too. Had children without their advice or help. Built a family and pursued a career. Maybe Bruce knew exactly what Tim went through.

Tim was just grateful he got his dad back and could share his family, now.

“You seem to have done fine without me,” Bruce said, in that sad depressed tone again, “You’ve got this little one. And I see nothing but smiling pictures all over this apartment. Damian never once smiled for a photo for me.”

“That took a ton of work, Bruce,” Tim said tiredly, “he didn’t just wake up here in this world with me as his only living relative and flip to happy. Those easy smiles took years.”

Tim wasn’t really sure if Damian would have been as happy and carefree as he was had he continued to grow up in Gotham. Ideally, Tim wanted to think that yes, he would. But according to their comics, Damian was supposed to die at 10, and it was difficult to see Damian moving past the trauma of his entire life and the trauma of his death at the hands of his own mother and be as okay as he was now.

Then again, Jason was doing okay-ish. So maybe.

Bruce removed his hand from the infant’s face and wrapped it around Tim’s shoulders, “I’m so proud of you,” Bruce whispered, “You’ve grown into quite the young man.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Tim replied, leaning back down onto Bruce, “Or, Grandpa Bruce, I suppose.”

“Hrn,” Bruce grunted, keeping his hold on his son and granddaughter, “I’m not old enough to be Grandpa.”

“Pops?” Tim offered, smiling smugly, “besides, I’m still younger than Dick, so yes you definitely are.”

Bruce groaned and let go of Tim, then said, “Papa would be acceptable.”

“Papa it is,” Tim said, gently removing Bristol from his father’s arms to put her back to bed, “I can’t wait for you to meet her awake. You’re going to love her.”

After a long moment of hesitation, during which time Tim put Bristol back in her crib, Bruce nodded.

“I have so much to tell you, I don’t even know where to begin,” Tim said as they walked back toward the living room.

Bruce wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulders and said, “Then why don’t we start with where Damian is until 2 in the morning.”

“Okay, but I told him when he was 11 that you’d approve, so don’t make a liar out of me,” Tim said warningly, and almost defensively, as he pulled away to sit down at the island with Kyla and Dick.

Jason was still watching TV, and Tim was pretty sure he was only doing it because he loved anything and everything that possibly suggested that Bruce wasn’t a perfect all-knowing superhero and wanted to rub that into Bruce’s face.

Bruce narrowed his eyes and took a seat next to Dick, accepting a mug of tea from Kyla.

“What is it?” Dick asked, interest clearly piqued.

“He’s into musical theater,” Tim said slowly, “and so he’s at his show. On Saturdays it runs until about 11, then he usually goes out with his castmates.”

Really, Tim would have loved for Dick and Bruce to find out from Damian himself. While the kid wouldn’t come back in costume, he’d be wearing simple sweats and a jacket, he’d likely share pretty quickly where he’d been. But, Tim didn’t want to risk Damian’s feelings being hurt by an unaccepting Bruce, even if the scorn was unintentional.

Damian was strong and confident, but Tim was fairly certain that Bruce and Dick were the only two people in the entirety of every universe that could get in under Damian’s defenses and hurt him. Tim wanted to avoid that at all costs.

Dick grinned widely while Bruce’s face just pinched, as they both clearly tried to process what Tim had said.

“So, so, so,” Dick said, enthusiasm spiking, “you’re telling me my brat of a little brother who doesn’t even like hugs because they embarrass him enjoys singing and dancing in front of people?”

“Oh, he thrives on it,” Kyla said, grinning just as widely as Dick.

“Tell them about how he’s the fucking lead on Broadway,” Jason shouted from the living room, where he was apparently not as engrossed in _Titans_ as Tim thought.

“He what?” Dick exclaimed.

“He’ll be quick to correct that he’s only the alternate for the lead,” Tim added, hiding his own grin behind his mug… or teacup. Was it a teacup if it had tea in it? They were uncivilized and only had coffee mugs. Alfred would be horrified.

“Huh,” Bruce finally said, his face relaxing again, “that’s not the path I pictured him taking.”

“Yeah, but he chose it,” Tim said, “so please be supportive.”

“Of course, Tim,” Bruce said, almost annoyed, “you don’t have to tell me to be supportive of my son.”

Tim pursed his lips and took another sip of his tea, swallowing down every retort to that statement that bubbled up in him with the warm drink. There was no use in picking a fight so soon after seeing Bruce for the first time in nearly eight years. As long as he wasn’t going to be an ass and unknowingly and unintentionally hurt Damian, Tim didn’t care.

But with that, the conversation died into an awkward silence. While the four of them quietly sipped at their tea, the only noise in the apartment that could be heard was the television on the other side of the great room.

Bruce’s attention got drawn to the wall of photos near the kitchen, and his gaze did not go unnoticed. Finally, to break the silence, Dick said with a knowing smile, “Hey Timmy, you got any more pictures of Damian or this little baby of yours I can’t wait to meet?”

“You do know Tim, right?” Kyla laughed, “The terabytes of photos he has…”

“ _We_ have,” Tim asserted as he hopped up to retrieve his tablet from the living room, grateful for something to keep the conversation going, “you knew what you were signing up for when you married me,” he added with a grin, flipping through his photos app until he found the ‘favorites’ folder.

The most recent in the folder was the one he’d just taken of Bruce. When Tim selected it and handed the iPad to Dick, the man exclaimed, partly offended, “Bruce got to meet her already?”

“She _is_ my granddaughter,” Bruce grumbled as he reached over to the tablet and not-so-subtly airdropped the photo to his own phone.

“Oh man,” Dick said, flipping backward to the next most recent photo, one of Jason and Bristol making faces at each other, which Bruce also stole, “This is all a dream, right? I’m dreaming.”

“I hope not,” Tim said, grinning as he watched Bruce steal pretty much every photo they flipped through. After the first few, Dick unlocked his own phone and demanded Bruce give them to him as well.

And so, they spent the better part of two hours talking about the pictures on Tim’s iPad, sharing the stories that went along with them. And as they did, the awkwardness seeped away, leaving behind comfortable familiarity.

Even if it had been nearly eight years, Dick and Bruce were still his brother and dad. And it relieved Tim to know that.

\----

A little past midnight, the family moved to the living room to continue catching up, having exhausted the ‘favorites’ album on Tim’s iPad. Bruce walked Tim through the process it took finding them, and Tim spoke about his own research in the field. Kyla, Dick, and Jason bounced from topic to topic, mostly ignoring the ‘nerd speak’ going on between Bruce and Tim.

Then, finally, but much earlier than expected, a key was inserted into the deadbolt and Tim grinned widely.

He hadn’t given Damian a single hint about who was waiting for him, and Tim was so freaking excited.

Bruce tensed a bit at the sound of the door, and looked apprehensive about the incoming reunion. It was kind of like meeting his son for the first time all over again, Tim reasoned. At least this time he had a heads up, and wasn’t just faced with a child and then told ‘oh yeah this is yours.’

Dick, on the other hand, was clearly having trouble containing his excitement.

The door swung open and Damian stepped into the apartment, kicking his boots off onto the mud-mat and hanging his jacket and keys up on the hooks, not even bothering to look over at who was in the living room.

“Why’re you guys still up?” he asked as he shut and locked the door, checking his watch as he did so, “or actually, I guess I’m early.”

“Reasons,” Tim said, attempting to make his voice sound as dull and distracted as it would normally be while responding to such a question. As an almost afterthought, he pulled out his phone and began recording Damian. This was gonna be good.

Damian huffed a laugh and turned to face them. “Your clever responses never cease to—”

The exact moment Damian noticed was one Tim would forever cherish. The kid’s eyes went so wide Tim was surprised they didn’t pop right out.

Dick was the first to speak, standing and walking over to the teen with a giant grin on his face. “Oh my gosh, look at you,” the man said, putting his hands on either side of Damian’s arms, looking up at his brother, “you’re so tall!”

Damian’s face slowly morphed from gaping shock to a shy smile as he laughed out, “Dick,” and held his arms out to the man. Dick wasted no time accepting the offered hug and pulled the teen into a fierce one.

By the time they’d pulled apart, Bruce had stood and made his way to stand beside them. When Damian turned to face him, Bruce set a hand on the teen’s shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. He did this a few times before Damian finally cut him off.

“It’s good to see you, too, Father.”

“Oh, Damian,” Bruce said, putting a hand behind the teen’s head and pulling him into a hug, “you grew up so well.”

“I missed you, Dad,” Damian whispered, nearly too quietly for Tim to hear, and Tim could see the tears slipping down his face, so he turned to give them a bit of privacy. Bruce continued speaking in Damian’s ear, too softly for any of them to make out, so they all sat there, awkwardly avoiding each other’s eyes as they pretended not to notice Damian crying a bit harder at whatever his father was saying.

When they finally broke apart, Damian sniffed and wiped at his face with his sleeve. “I need to shower and change,” he croaked, “I’ll be back in a few.”

Bruce sat heavily on the couch and rested his head down into his hands, rubbing at his eyes, as if doing so would make all his troubles disappear. When he finished, he left his chin in his hands and looked up at his audience.

“Everything okay?” Tim asked, shifting a bit under the weight of Kyla leaning against him.

With a sigh, Bruce said, “Three of my four sons left me suddenly as kids and came back as adults.”

Jason scowled and snapped, “These circumstances are nothing like my death.”

“The results are the same,” Bruce said, sighing again, “I missed the rest of each of your childhoods.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, you didn’t miss Damian’s high school graduation,” Tim said, “and there’s still a bit of time between now and then. So you didn’t miss it all.”

“Are you suggesting we stay for… how many more months? Two?” Dick asked, an honest, yet confused, expression on his face. No trace of anger. Bruce, on the other hand, was glaring now. Clearly, he did not like that suggestion.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we will be,” Tim shot back, already in defensive mode against what he knew would be an angry tirade from Bruce, “We can’t just pack up and leave in the middle of the night, guys.”

“We have friends and family here,” Kyla said sleepily, from where Tim had assumed she’d fallen asleep, “I’m from here. I can’t leave without warning or we’ll send those who love us here into an unnecessary panic.”

“We can’t stay here,” Bruce asserted as he stood, using his no-back-talking-Robin voice, “You are still missing in our world and we can’t delay your return just so Damian can graduate high school. He can do that in our world, if he really wants.”

Tim scowled and was about to speak up, but Kyla beat him to it. “It’ll be 18 hours in your world, at most, Mr. Wayne. I think allowing us three months here to wrap up our lives neatly is worth a mere 18 hours there. And if you’re so concerned, there is nothing stopping you from going back to your world and telling them that everyone is okay. Just keep in mind that for every hour you spend there, 121 passes here, and you should be fine.”

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, shifting his glare between Kyla and Tim, but then snapped it shut and sat back down. He was basically pouting, and it was hilarious. Tim couldn’t be more proud of his wife for standing up to _Batman_. Within a few hours of meeting him. And winning. She totally just won.

“You can just call me Bruce,” he eventually said, and that was the closest thing to approval of Kyla Tim was ever going to get, he just knew. Based on how Kyla absolutely beamed at the comment, she knew that, too.

“How about we all go to bed,” Tim said, yawning a bit as he did, but unable to hide his smile, “I don’t know what time it was there for you guys before you came here, but I’m exhausted and Bristol will have us up at 6 regardless of everything, so I’d like some sleep.”

It took a bit of arguing to figure out the sleeping arrangements. Jason absolutely would not give up his room, which was fine, no one was going to fight him for it. Damian was quick to offer his up, but neither Dick nor Bruce wanted to take his bed from him.

So, in the end, Bruce slept on the pull out in the living room, and Dick slept on an airmattress in the dead space between the living room and dining room areas. It was a nice air-mattress, though. One of those $80 ones that were actually comfortable, so Tim didn’t feel too bad about it.

\----

“Everything is about to get so complicated,” Kyla whined once she finally lay down. Tim had already been in bed for ten minutes, at that point, trying to sleep.

As much as he enjoyed their late night talks, he really was exhausted. Because of that, he simply hummed in acknowledgement, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“What are we gonna do about our name?” Kyla said, tugging at the covers a bit.

Tim scowled at the wall for a second before opening his eyes and flipping to his back, so he could kind of see the girl out of the corner of his eyes. “What about it?”

“Will we change it?” she asked, “To Drake? Or Wayne? I really don’t want to be Drake-Wayne. Hyphenated names are ridiculous.”

Groaning, Tim rubbed at his face and said tiredly, “But that’s what my name is. Drake-Wayne.”

Kyla huffed a sound that almost sounded like Damian’s signature ‘tt,’ and said, “That doesn’t mean I have to take it. I can always stay Wagner and you can switch back to Drake-Wayne. How’s that?”

“Kinda weird,” Tim admitted, “since it’s not your maiden name or anything.”

“You could always do the normal woman-thing and make Drake your middle name and we can take Wayne,” she offered, and Tim simply closed his eyes. Why was this even a conversation? At nearly 2 in the morning? They had months to talk about this.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, completely ready to go to sleep, but then a thought startled him back awake. Because what if this was just a way to express her anxiety about moving to his world? “Do you really want to come back to my world, Kyla?”

“I mean, yes?” she said, sounding almost uncertain, “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

“But do you want to?” he pressed.

After a long moment, she smiled and kissed the tip of Tim’s nose, then said, “As long as I have you and Bristol, I’m cool with wherever life takes us.”

Tim scrunched his nose at the random contact, then relaxed back against his pillow. “Good, good,” he mumbled, “Okay then. Can we think about last names later? I’m tired.”

“Your dad is gonna have to meet my mom,” she whispered loudly a few minutes later, causing Tim to just groan.

“Kyla,” he whined. And it was hard to suppress his smile when the girl started laughing softly.

“Night, Timmy.”

\----

Bristol started shouting about being awake at 6:07, and Tim stayed in bed for an entire minute, glaring up at the ceiling, cursing out every deity he could think of for making him operate on less than four hours of sleep.

And wasn’t that just hilarious? He’d gotten used to actually sleeping. At night. Enough.

When they went back to Gotham, that’d probably end.

“Mama. Daddy,” Bristol yelled again, “m’ake!”

Kyla patted Tim on the shoulder and got out bed herself, heading toward their bathroom to get ready for the day. On the weekends, it was Tim’s job to get the girl up for the day. And since it was Sunday…

Tim rolled out of bed and trudged over to the door to the nursery, flipping on the light as he entered. “Are you awake?” he asked as he scrubbed at his eyes and walked over to the little girl’s crib.

“Daddy,” the toddler exclaimed, always excited to see people for the first time each day. She was like a puppy in that way. Tim loved it, honestly. It helped brighten his mood a bit every time she showed even the mildest form of excitement to see him.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, lifting the girl up out of the crib and planting a kiss on her cheek once he did, “did you sleep well?”

Bristol started babbling something Tim didn’t understand as he went through the motions of changing her diaper and putting her PJs in the hamper. He smiled and nodded at her little story, offering random feedback as she went, still having no idea what she was actually saying.

Once she was in a new diaper, Tim set her down on the ground and said “Okay, what do you want to wear today?”

With Tim’s help opening drawers, Bristol picked out a t-shirt, leggings, and freaking tutu, because of course she did. “Sweetpea, that’s for dress up,” he tried explaining, but the little girl clutched the article desperately and scowled at Tim.

“Mine,” she demanded, clearly trying to convey in the single word that it didn’t matter one bit what Tim thought about the tutu, Bristol was wearing it, and she was wearing it with the Batman t-shirt she’d picked out.

Tim was not at all ashamed of the ridiculous number of Batman themed items they’d bought the child, or the fact that she loved them. Wearing a Batman t-shirt with a pink tutu in front of Bruce, however?

Well. This was going to be an adventure.

“Okay,” he acquiesced, “just come here so I can get you dressed.”

After getting her dressed and brushing both of their teeth in the master bathroom, Tim went to pull himself out something to wear when the picture they kept on the dresser caught his eye.

Grabbing the framed photo of Bruce and Dick, Tim turned to where Bristol was sitting on his bed, quietly playing a game on his iPad aimed at toddlers. “Bristol,” he said, sitting down next to her, “Do you remember who these people are?”

The baby looked up from the screen and over at the photo in Tim’s hand. Without missing a beat, she pointed at Bruce and said “Gam pa Boos,” then pointed at Dick and said, “Kunkle Kick,” before returning her attention back to her game.

“That’s right, good job,” he praised, hopping up to set the photo back on the dresser, “Would you like for Grandpa Bruce and Uncle Dick to come play with you?”

“Okay,” the baby said, almost absently, as Tim pulled out a shirt and pair of jeans and began to quickly change into them.

“Okay? Do you want to see them today?”

Bristol didn’t respond as she delicately attempted to drag a yellow envelope to a green box. The game was having her help sort the mail or something. It actually amazed Tim how much she could do on these sort of games with no clear directions, except a bunch of boxes and a ‘pile’ of envelopes. At the tender age of 22-months-old. Had he been that smart as a baby? Had Kyla?

“Is that the yellow box?” he asked as he watched her make the same mistake again, just to have the envelope fly back to the pile.

Huffing frustratedly, Bristol dragged the envelope again, this time toward the yellow box.

“Good job,” Tim said as she finished sorting out the different colored envelopes, then clicked the iPad off as he took it away from her, just to have her scream for it back. “Hey,” he said sharply, “Is that how we ask for things?”

“Daddy peas,” she pouted angrily, making grabby hands for the iPad Tim was holding up and out of her reach.

“Good manners,” Tim said, deciding to focus on the actual words instead of the tone, since she was technically still only a year old, “but we’re done playing games for now.”

“No,” she screamed, throwing herself backward on the bed in a dramatic display of toddler emotions.

Tim waited a minute for the child to stop crying before he picked her up and and looked her straight in the eyes. “Are you done?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the baby.

“Pay game,” she whined pitifully, pointing over at the iPad, which was now charging on the end table.

“No, pumpkin, not right now,” Tim said, tapping the little girl on the nose, “There is someone in the living room who wants to play with you.”

“Dee Jay,” she asked, requesting the two uncles she already knew.

“Yes, D and Jay are out there,” he said, opening the bedroom door to make his way down the short little hall into the common area, “but Grandpa Bruce and Uncle Dick are in the living room, too.”

At that, the little girl started bouncing and trying to wiggle out of Tim’s grasp, so he set the girl down and let her run as fast as her chubby little legs would take her.

Once in the living room, however, instead of going straight for Bruce or Dick, Bristol zeroed in on Kyla and made a dive straight for her mother.

“Morning,” Tim greeted as he walked into the living room and sat down next to Kyla, accepting the mug of coffee she pointed at on the end table for him. So far everyone but Jason was up and in the living room.

A chorus of “Good mornings,” sounded from the three men all sitting on the other couch, Damian right between his older brother and father, looking at the tablet in the teen’s hands.

Well, they were trying to remain focused on Damian’s tablet, but it was clear they were both eyeing Bristol, who was being aggressively shy.

Mostly for the attention being shy brought her, Tim was sure.

“Why don’t you go say ‘hi’ to Grandpa Bruce and Uncle Dick,” Kyla whispered into Bristol’s hair, “I bet they’d love a hug from you.”

“No,” the baby squealed, burrowing her head down into Kyla’s neck.

“Baby girl,” Tim said, patting his daughter on the back, “Can you come-”

“No,” Bristol screamed again, swatting her hand in Tim’s general direction.

Tim shrugged and looked apologetically over at Bruce and Dick. Of course they all realized the toddler would not do anything they wanted. She was a stubborn little shit like that. So they decided to just actively ignore her, instead.

Damian went back to showing Bruce and Dick something on his iPad. From the sounds of it, it was his Facebook profile. Various comments from either man usually related to complimenting art or asking who people were. Kyla and Tim turned their attention to the news broadcast.

Eventually, Bristol sat up and slowly wriggled her way to the ground. Rounding the coffee table, she flung herself at Damian, demanding to be picked up with a dramatic raise of her arms in his direction.

Then, of course, she immediately buried her face in Damian’s shirt.

The teen simply patted her back after repositioning and handing the iPad to Dick to hold.

“This is a photo Tim took a few years ago. We went camping at the Grand Canyon,” he explained, pointing at the screen.

“Your photography has only improved,” Bruce observed, clearly trying his best to resist an urge to just snatch Bristol right up.

“Thanks. Damian made me,” Tim said, grinning.

“I did no such thing,” Damian replied dryly, “I merely enabled you. Just as you did not force me to participate in theater, but simply enabled me.”

“Yeah, but I did that without all the lectures. You lectured me a bunch about ‘practicing my art’ and ‘doing something for myself for once.’”

Damian scowled at Tim and said, nearly offended, “You and I remember the past 8 years very differently, Tim. You lectured me a ton. You _still_ lecture me.”

Tim grinned and conceded the point, “Yeah, fair. But you deserved them all.”

Shrugging, Damian looked back at the tablet and tapped at the screen. Dick and Bruce, however, were looking back and forth between Tim and Damian, their thoughts plastered all over their face. And yeah, if the last interaction one had seen between Tim and Damian was one where they barely kept themselves from pulling weapons on one another, their exchange was kind of weird. Tim would give them that.

They’d get used to it, though. Jason had.

Finally, Bristol turned her head to look at Dick, putting her hands up to block her vision. But, based on Dick’s blinding smile, she was peeking through her fingers.

“Hey Bristol,” he said cheerfully, “do you know who I am?”

“Kunkle Kick” she mumbled, hiding her face again.

Dick’s face lit up in response. Tim could tell the little girl had made his entire week, just by knowing his name.

“I like your tutu,” Dick said, poking at the ridiculously full skirt that made holding the toddler actually quite difficult.

Bristol sat up a bit and pulled at her tutu, saying, “Ee-na,” over and over at Dick.

“Yeah, you’re a ballerina,” Damian said, helping Dick interpret the toddler’s speech.

“Ee-na you,” Bristol added, poking at Damian’s chest.

Damian laughed and rubbed at the spot where the little girl had poked, “Yeah, I’m a ballerina. Something like that.”

“Are you a ballerina?” Dick asked, grinning a bit teasingly.

“The proper term in Italian would be _ballerino_ , but we do not use it in English. Therefore, I am simply a ballet dancer.”

“Really?” Dick said, perking up a bit, “Can I see?”

Damian shrugged and started tapping away at the tablet Dick had still been holding. After a moment, a video of one of Damian’s rehearsals of a particularly ballet-heavy number popped up on the television screen, interrupting the news broadcast Tim and Kyla were still watching.

“Hey,” Tim grumbled, “They were about to cover the stock market.”

“That’s what google is for,” Damian retorted, then turned his attention back to Dick, “This is a number from _A Chorus Line_ , which I was in last year.”

Bristol wriggled her way onto the ground and started to ‘dance’ along with Damian on the screen, which really just resulted in her spinning in circles, but it was freaking adorable, if Tim said so himself.

“This is really a blend of tap and ballet,” Damian said, a couple minutes into the video, after Bristol had made herself dizzy and sat down to watch Damian keep dancing, “that’s what makes theater so great. We transition between the various styles of dancing, sometimes blending them together into the same move. It’s a lot like fighting on the street, actually, with multiple forms of martial arts.”

“Hmm,” Bruce said, nodding as he watched the screen intently, “impressive, son. This will transfer well into your martial arts. Dancing was a good way to keep in proper shape for your training, as well.”

One would have to be incredibly familiar with the teen’s face to notice how it pinched in ever so slightly at Bruce’s words. But Tim was familiar with Damian’s face. He’d spent years studying it, learning to read every emotion, even when Damian tried his best to hide them. And Tim could see now how Damian had taken Bruce’s comment to mean that he only approved of dancing because of how it would help him as a vigilante. That now that Damian was going back home, he wouldn’t need dancing anymore. He’d switch back to martial arts, and Damian didn’t want that.

Tim was pretty sure that was not what Bruce was saying, but Damian had only had a few months with Bruce. Half of that time he spent actively fighting the man, instead of trying to learn what he could about him. So, of course Damian didn’t fully understand Bruce’s extremely poor attempt at conveying his pride for Damian’s accomplishments and approval of his passion.

“I enjoy dancing, Father,” Damian said slowly, turning his attention back to his tablet as he started swiping through what Tim assumed were more videos. A moment later, a video of Damian in the ensemble of _Newsies_ popped on screen, where they rehearsed the dance for ‘Seize the Day.’

Bruce nodded and watched the screen, while Bristol hopped up again and started trying to copy what she was seeing on the TV. A very amused Dick closely watched the toddler, as he slipped down to the floor to attempt to dance ‘with’ her from her level.

“We’re gonna have to put her in dance class,” Kyla muttered to Tim, who nodded absently while he observed Damian.

“I wish to keep it up upon our return to Gotham,” Damian added after a few minutes of the video, as he toyed nervously with the edge of his tablet’s protective case.

“Of course,” Bruce agreed easily, not even tearing his eyes away from the screen, “May I see your show here?”

At that, Damian visibly relaxed and nodded, “Yes, of course you can. Would you like to see me as lead or in the ensemble?”

“Whichever you prefer,” Bruce said, leaning back to place an arm on the couch behind Damian, “I’d just love to see you perform.”

“I can probably get you tickets to Tuesday’s show, then,” Damian said with a faint smile on his lips, “I’ll be playing the lead that night.”

“Sounds perfect,” Bruce said.

“All right,” Dick cheered from where he was sitting on the ground, each of Bristol’s hands in his own as he spun the girl back and forth in some weird little dance, “I can’t wait.”

After a second, Dick looked down at Bristol’s shirt and exclaimed, “Oh my god. Bristol, go show Grandpa Bruce your shirt.”

Bristol looked down at her own shirt and up at Bruce. “Ba man,” she said, pointing at the bat on her shirt.

Bruce smiled the most genuine smile Tim had ever seen on the man’s face as he nodded and leaned forward in his seat, “Yeah, that’s Batman. Do you like Batman?”

“Ba man gam pa boos,” Bristol said proudly, nodding her head as she did so, then walked over to Bruce and motioned for him to pick her up.

Tim looked at Kyla and gave her a questioning look. Who had taught the baby that Bruce was Batman? Not Tim, that’s for sure. They’d have to fix that somehow. Bristol couldn’t go around telling everyone that Bruce was Batman in Gotham.

The baby’s grandfather happily obliged her latest request and lifted her right up into his lap, “Hi there, Bristol,” he said, smiling softly at the toddler.

“Gam pa Boos,” she said, sticking her fingers in her mouth as she examined the man now holding her.

“Yes, that’s me. Grandpa Bruce,” Bruce said, apparently forgetting that last night he’d asked Tim to call him ‘Papa.’ Honestly, Tim had forgotten that, too. They’d already taught her ‘Grandpa Bruce,’ but if B really wanted it, they could change it to ‘Papa.’ “Do you like your Uncle Damian?” Bruce asked, motioning for the teen, who was sitting with one of his legs up on the couch, leaning over against Bruce to smile at Bristol.

“Dee,” Bristol said, pulling her hand out of her mouth so she could point it at Damian, “no mimiam, Dee.”

“Yes,” Damian agreed, nodding against Bruce’s shoulder, “Eighteen years of going by Damian means nothing, Bris, because you have named me Dee.”

“Dee,” Bristol agreed decidedly, turning her attention back to Bruce.

“Hey, don’t feel bad, Demon, I tried my best to get her to call me Uncle Hood,” Jason said, emerging from his bedroom, “but that little brat has a mind of her own.”

“It’s almost like she’s a person,” Kyla said in the most exaggerated ‘ah-ha’ voice she could muster at 7 in the morning.

Bristol made grabby hands for Damian’s tablet, repeating ‘peas’ over and over before the teen reluctantly handed the device over. The baby happily flipped around in Bruce’s lap and swiped through the apps until she found her game and started it up, then had Bruce help her play it for the next half hour.

Tim decided to get up and go fix everyone breakfast as he marveled at his family.

Because it was kind of weird.

Tim’s entire family. Well, entire family minus Alfred, sitting around in the living room on a lazy Sunday morning, just sharing in each other’s company. Jason reading a book, Bruce playing with Bristol, and the rest of them watching television. Not much conversation happening, just simple, restful company.

It was actually nice.

Never in his life did Tim think he’d have family like _this._ It was like a freaking book. A television show. Sappy, happy, carefree scene of familial bliss.

The smoothness of the introduction of Bruce and Dick into their lives should have put Tim at ease. He didn’t expect it to be difficult, per say, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

Tim should be happy and relaxed.

So why was he so on edge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A while back I drew [a picture of Bristol](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com/post/179467169537/ive-been-playing-with-a-new-style-of-painting-and) based off this chapter, so there's a link to that if you're curious what I picture her looking like.


	31. Seven Years and Ten Months

The rest of Sunday passed by fairly smoothly. Sunday was the day no one in the house worked. It was Damian’s one day off a week, and Tim suspected that’s why Jason also kept his Sunday free. The two of them had turned into quite good friends. And while Sunday wasn’t always spent together as a family, it was usually spent relaxing. And it was nice to spend it all day with all seven of them together.

So it was nice that the arguing was put off until Monday.

Tim got up at 5 like he did every weekday morning to fix himself a cup of coffee. He liked having the hour or so before everyone else got up to review for class. It wasn’t that he found teaching difficult, it was just still his first year and he was getting used to being the one teaching. The extra little review of his lecture notes always helped.

But, of course, he wasn’t alone. Because Dick and Bruce were both in the living room. Which Tim didn’t _forget_ about. He just… conveniently didn’t think about until he stepped out of his bedroom and saw the unconscious form of Dick Grayson sprawled out across the air mattress in the middle of the great room. And as soon as Tim took one step out of the hall, both men were awake, and there vanished Tim’s hope of a quiet morning.

“Sorry,” he offered as he stepped around Dick, headed for the kitchen, “not sure there was any way to get ready for work without waking you guys, though.”

“You’re going to work?” Dick asked sleepily, stretching dramatically.

Humming in the affirmative, Tim filled the coffee pot with water and started the task of brewing a fresh pot.

“So it’ll be the rest of us here today?” Dick said, standing now as he gathered up his bedding to tuck out of the way of the suddenly massive family living in the three-bedroom apartment.

“Um, no,” Tim said, glaring at the coffeemaker, willing it to make coffee _faster._ He never had to be _awake_ so soon after first getting up. Not even Bristol expected much from him first thing in the morning. “Dames’s got school then rehearsals and a show, Kyla’s got work and then class, and I have no idea what Jason does all day.”

Dick came to sit at the island behind Tim and asked, “And Bristol?”

“We leave her on the roof to fend for herself,” Tim deadpanned just as the coffee maker finished.

“We can watch her,” Bruce grumbled from the couch, where he was pathetically trying to look completely awake and present. That kind of made Tim smile, because of the absurdity of it. Him being the adult, getting up in the morning to go to work, and Bruce acting like an annoyed teenager being forced awake too early.

“She’s got daycare,” Tim dismissed as he took a sip of his coffee and sat at the island. He was going to try to review his lecture notes, despite the company.

“You don’t have to send her, we can watch her,” Dick said cheerfully, “it’ll be fun spending the time with her.”

Tim rubbed at his face, blinking away the sleep he still felt as he stared down at his tablet. “She’s a handful, guys.”

“We can handle it,” Dick insisted.

And Tim just hummed.

 

Somehow, magically, Bruce and Dick let him actually review his notes while they both got ready for the day. By time time 6 rolled around and the rest of the family started getting up, Tim was pretty well awake and prepared for the day.

Half way through breakfast, Dick blurted out, “Seriously, guys, we can watch Bristol while you’re out. No need to pay for daycare anymore.”

Jason snorted but kept otherwise silent, while Kyla said, “She’s a lot of work.”

“That’s what Tim said, but I promise we can handle it.”

“Her daycare is really good,” Tim added, “it’s structured and they have an actual curriculum. She’s actually learning, not just playing on the iPad and throwing blocks around.”

“Yeah,” Jason added sarcastically, “and they’ll _lose the spot_ if they withdraw her.”

“Why does that matter?” Bruce asked, “You won’t need it, anyway.”

“Exactly,” Jason said, pointing his fork at Bruce, “but try convincing Timmers of that.”

Tim just scowled and said, perhaps a bit too defensively, “if in a week you guys decide she’s too much for you to handle, we’ll have lost the spot and have to scramble to find another daycare. One not as good.”

“Besides,” Kyla cut in, “she’s a lot of work and neither of you have ever taken care of an infant."

Damian, who had been just looking between everyone at the table disinterestedly, said, “Well, it’s not like you guys had either before you had her.”

“Okay, but we did tons of research before she was even born. Then the nurses supervised us before we ever got to take care of her alone. So that doesn’t count,” Tim snapped, “Kyla has a point.”

Kyla nodded. “Yeah, and she has food allergies and I really don’t want to find out what her reaction is today.”

“We won’t poison her,” Dick whined, "Promise. She can’t have dairy, got it. No dairy. We’ll only feed her what you say she can eat.”

Tim clenched his jaw and was about to speak, but Damian beat him to it and said, “Jason knows how to take care of her. He’s done it before.”

With that, everyone looked at Jason, who went wide eyed. “Oh no. No way.”

“Jay, please?” Dick begged, and Tim was suddenly curious why Dick was so adamant he be allowed to watch Bristol.

But then again, who wouldn’t want to spend all their time with the little girl?

“If Jason stays here, I’d be more willing to leave Bristol home. _Today,”_ Kyla said, stressing that she meant just today, and not everyday.

“Just today?” Jason questioned, “I won’t have to spend all day every day with these two assholes?”

“Language,” three different people chided, all eyeing Bristol, who was happily eating cheerios off her tray without paying anyone any attention.

“Just for that,” the teen snapped, “I don’t even want to do it once.”

“I don’t have class today, ” Damian offered, “so I’ll be here until 2. So really you’ll only need to be here for three hours, tops.”

“Three hours,” Jason said numbly, giving Bruce an apprehensive look.

“Yeah,” Damian assured, “three hours.”

After looking around the table at everyone, Jason fixed his gaze on the little toddler still happily munching away and said, “Fine, but only for her. To make sure you idiots don’t accidentally kill her, or something.”

Everyone nodded, and then Jason added, because it was _necessary,_ “Because that’s an actual concern with Bruce, you know.”

“You’re filing me with so much confidence,” Kyla said dryly, “Just today, anyway. I want her in daycare tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Dick said with a huge grin, “do you hear that Bris? We’re gonna have so much fun today.”

“I’m regretting this already,” Kyla whispered to Tim, and he could see the same thought written all over Jason’s face.

“It’ll be fine.”

 

It was, of course, not fine.

Not because anyone got hurt, or Bristol died, or anything dramatic. But because Jason got sick of Bruce and Dick within an hour, and started texting Tim at 3, demanding to know when he’d be home so he could ‘go out.’

In the end, Tim went home immediately after his final class, which ended at 3:30, and relieved Jason from babysitting duty. When he asked the other two men why Jason was so desperate to leave, neither of them knew. Apparently, it had been rather pleasant and there’d be no fighting. Jason had sat on the couch reading a book the whole time.

So Tim shrugged it off. Hopefully Jason would open up to someone about whatever was bothering him. Probably to Damian. Even if he’d only lasted a couple hours, it was good to know Jason _could_ keep it civil with Bruce and Dick while alone with the men.

Baby steps, after all.

\----

“Wow,” Dick whispered as they took their seats at Damian’s show, “these are actually pretty good seats.”

“Yeah,” Kyla said, grinning, “Damian can usually hook us up pretty well as long as we don’t go on the weekend.”

“Especially when he tells everyone Jason’s dad and brother are in town,” Tim added.

“Hrn,” Bruce hummed, conveying his distaste for pretending Tim and Damian were his nephews instead of sons. He’d voiced his dislike for the plan multiple times.

But in this world, people don’t just come back from the dead. So, really, he had no choice. If he wanted to be seen in public with them, that is.

“Shut it, old man,” Jason said, leaning over to snatch the playbill from Bruce’s hands, three seats over.

“Jay,” the man grumbled, “you have your own.”

Jason grinned and said, “Sure do,” as he started flipping through the booklet. Instead of letting them fight over it, Tim just handed his program to Bruce.

“Wagner,” Bruce said as he looked over the cast information, “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that. Wagner.”

“I think it’s fitting,” Tim said, sinking down in his chair as the lights started dimming to start the show, “and it’s still really close to Wayne.”

“Will you go back to Drake, Tim?” Dick whispered, “or are you three keeping Wagner?”

“Don’t know,” Tim said shortly as he internally groaned. Why was _that_ what everyone was focusing on?

What name would they go by?

There were so many more important questions to ask. Like, where would they live? What would they do? When were they leaving? How were they telling everyone here? Their _name_ was probably the least important of all the questions.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Bruce asked, turning his attention away from the stage to study Tim.

“There’s Damian,” Dick exclaimed quietly, saving Tim from the scrutiny.

He really did need to start thinking about all that.

Instead, though, he simply smiled as he watched his little brother deliver the opening lines.

“His accent is hilarious,” Dick whispered, “is this why he talks with such a strong New York accent?”

“Growing up in New York is what caused that,” Kyla responded, just as the person in front of them shushed them.

Instead of watching the show, Tim found himself watching Bruce from the corner of his eye. Seeing his dad’s initial reaction to Damian’s singing was probably the highlight of the night. The way Bruce’s eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise at how _good_ Damian was was perfect. He’d have to tell Damian later how blown away Bruce was, since the man wasn’t likely to tell the kid himself.

During intermission, Dick asked Tim whether he had recordings of other shows Damian had done. And boy was Tim excited to get such a question.

“Yes. I have the full recording of every show he’s been in until this one,” he said, grinning wide, “and he has no clue.”

“When did he start?” Dick asked enthusiastically.

“When he was 11,” Tim said, smiling over at Bruce, too, “And he was _adorable._ I’ll show you it later.”

“He’s gonna kill you,” Jason said, clearly pleased with the idea of watching little baby Damian performing _and_ watching adult Damian be embarrassed by it.

“Yep,” Tim said, popping the ‘p’ as the lights dimmed once again.

Once the show was over, Tim led his family backstage to see Damian as he wrapped up whatever business he needed to do. They caught him just as he was getting his mic disconnected.

“Dami,” Kyla greeted, giving Damian a hug as she did, “You were great as always.”

“Thanks,” he replied, returning the hug as best he could without moving his head.

“You were wearing a mic?” Dick said, watching in interest as the tech or stage hand or whatever they were called untangled a tiny microphone from Damian’s hair.

“Yeah, anyone who speaks or sings wears a mic,” Damian said as he nodded his thanks at the guy helping him, “It’s easy to notice if you’re standing up close, but out in the audience you’re too far away.”

“Huh,” Dick replied, shifting to a wide smile, “You were _amazing_. That was incredible!”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, “you have quite a talent there, son.”

And at that, Damian absolutely beamed.

As they all walked home that night, Tim whispered to Damian, “Told you he’d approve.” And the smile the kid couldn’t suppress was all Tim needed in response.

\----

Tim knew it was too much to ask for Bruce to be patient and enjoy the three months they had left in New York. Of course he did, but it still didn’t make it any less annoying whenever the man complained about it.

“Is it really worth it,” Bruce asked again one morning as Tim was preparing for work, “going to work every day? Investing so much of your time and effort into something you’re about to drop?”

“Yes,” Tim replied easily as he entered his 8am class’s grades into the system. He had learned early on not to put in grades the night before, because he’d get emails about them all through the night. It was way easier to put them in first thing in the morning and deal with disgruntled students throughout the day, instead of as he was going to bed.

“Why?” Bruce demanded, and all Tim wanted to do was sigh.

“Because,” he said patiently as he clicked submit on the grades, “I’m also investing in the lives of others, of my students, and dropping them mid-semester does no one any good. I also have friends at work I enjoy being around. And most importantly, I enjoy my job. Who cares how much longer it’s going to last?”

“Hrn,” Bruce ran a hand through his hair and took a long look at Tim, “so are you going to be my CEO again? Or is this your chosen profession?”

“I,” Tim started, then frowned, “uh. I don’t know. I enjoy teaching, it’s a lot of fun.” But WE needed him. That’s why he had even stepped up in the first place, and he couldn’t just sit idly by while the company struggled or suffered. He was pretty confident Lucius could handle it, but at the same time, he felt like not taking the job back was abandoning the company.

Why was going back to Gotham so complicated? It was never supposed to be this… this… confusing.

“You don’t seem to have a plan at all,” Bruce pointed out, “that is not like you.”

“My plan was let life happen and then deal with it later,” Tim said, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Now it’s later,” Bruce said simply, standing to go get ready for the day.

“Yeah,” Tim whispered. Now it’s later.

\----

“We have to talk about this,” Tim said reluctantly that night, his limbs sprawled out on the bed in a dramatic display of defeat.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Kyla laughed, pushing him out of her way so she could lay down as well.

“Ugh,” Tim groaned, suppressing a smile.

“I’ve been trying to talk about it with you, Tim. You’re the one avoiding the conversation.”

“Ugh,” he groaned louder.

“What are your concerns?” she asked kindly, “What is making you like this?”

“I don’t even know,” he whined, covering his eyes with his elbow, “everything I guess. It’s just-”

Everything. Every single thing about moving back to Gotham was concerning him. They had no answers to any question, and Tim wasn’t even sure what the correct answer to any of them would possibly be. He didn’t know what his stance on any of it was. Where would they live? What would he do? What would they go by? What would they tell everyone? How would they explain Kyla and Bristol? How was any of it going to work?

“Everything,” Kyla deadpanned, “Tim, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Ugh,” he repeated, “I don’t know! Bruce asked me today if I was going to be his CEO.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said ‘I don’t know!’” he exclaimed, “because I don’t know!”

“You don’t have to shout at me,” Kyla said flatly.

Tim removed the arm from his face and peeked over at his wife sheepishly. “Sorry. I said ‘I don’t know,’ because I don’t know. I enjoy being a professor, doing research. But will my degree here transfer there? Will I have to redo all my schooling? Are physics even the _same_ in the two universes?”

Kyla shrugged as she pulled the covers out and over her, “Dunno. That’s probably something you can’t know until we get there.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed tiredly, “I feel like that’s the answer to most of the things we have to figure out.”

Sighing, Tim covered his face again and stared blankly into the darkness of his elbow. What did he even want? Being CEO was great. It was actually a lot of fun being a 16-year-old boss. Would it still be fun, now that he was older? Not that 23 was much better in the eyes of people more than twice his age, but still.

The job was stressful, though. Between it and Red Robin, he didn’t have any free time. Family time. And he’d grown really accustomed to down time. Having hours in the evening, every evening, and entire weekends to himself to spend with his family. To watch his daughter grow up, was time he treasured. He absolutely could not go back to never having free time, that was for sure.

“I’ll tell you what I’m concerned about,” Kyla said, ending the comfortable silence that had been going, “I’m worried about you being Red Robin again.”

Tim nodded for a few seconds before finally saying, “Yeah. I don’t plan on being Red Robin again.”

Not being Red Robin would ensure he’d be there for his daughter. Or, it would ensure as best as he could. After all, his biological father hadn’t been a vigilante when he’d died.

Bruce had been, however. And while Bruce had come back, his death had been incredibly difficult on the family. It had been incredibly difficult on Damian, regardless of his feigned apathy toward it at the time.

It was difficult on Tim, too. He was only 15 at the time, and even if he were perfectly capable of living on his own as an adult, as evidenced by his life here, that didn’t make the sting of losing a parent any lesser.

The pain he went through, the struggles afterward, wasn’t a pain he wanted to inflict on Bristol. Not if he could help it.

“You said yourself: they’ll find a way to drag you back in. I’m just-” she sighed and Tim felt the bed shift beneath him as she scooted closer, “concerned.”

And he could hear in her voice all the unspoken words. The same unspoken concerns he had about the danger of that life. About the danger of leaving the family prematurely. Leaving her behind in a strange world with a small child and none of her friends or family left. Just Damian, maybe, and the rest of Tim’s family, who all lived just as dangerous lives.

There was a lot to worry about.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “me too.”

Because he was.

\----

“Jordan,” Tim greeted happily when he answered the door one Friday afternoon in late March, “What on earth are you doing here?”

The man grinned and gave Tim a quick hug before saying, “Hey Tim. I heard Batman was in your apartment and the fanboy inside me wouldn’t let me stay home.”

“And here I thought you missed me,” he said sardonically.

“Miss a scrawny little twerp like you? Please,” the man said, pushing his way into the apartment.

“Bristol,” he exclaimed as the little girl slide down off the couch between Dick and Bruce to run over to the newest guest, “You, I have missed.” Tim just grinned as he shut the door back.

“Jorin,” the toddler giggled as the man scooped her up and hugged her, “Papa, Kick”

“This is Jordan,” Tim said in way of introduction, “he’s one of my and Kyla’s friends from college. Jordan, this is Bruce and Dick.”

“Hey,” Jordan said, grinning wide as he held an active little Bristol, who was doing nothing but tugging at his hair.

“Hi,” Dick said, hopping up to shake Jordan’s hand, “nice to meet you.”

“You too. I know it’s weird, but I’m a huge fan of your comics.”

Bruce nodded and shook Jordan’s hand, and then they all just stood there awkwardly.

Thankfully, Bristol was excellent at keeping every moment exciting, and tugged too hard at Jordan’s hair, ending the silence.

“Ow,” he said, shooing the little girls hands away, “I know I’m the favorite uncle, but that doesn’t mean you have to show me so aggressively.”

“Hmph,” she huffed, crossing her arms at Jordan for a moment, “Bad. No hit.”

“I did not hit you,” Jordan defended himself, “I did not.”

Just like that, Bristol turned to Tim with the biggest puppy eyes ever as she whined pitifully, “Hit,” at him.

“Oh my god,” Jordan groaned, “she is Kyla’s, that’s for sure.”

“You are two,” Tim said to the toddler as he took her from Jordan’s arms, “let’s not start learning how to ham it up, okay?”

Bristol just jutted out her lower lip and wrapped her arms around Tim’s neck.

“Oh my god,” he said, even as he patted the little girl on the back, “We are never letting Damian give you acting lessons. You’ll use it against us with your cute little face.”

“So,” Dick said awkwardly as Bristol continued to be pitiful for the hugs, “you said you liked our comics?”

With that, Tim got to listen to another long conversation about the comics. Bristol eventually stopped her playacting and hopped back up to be her regular, happy self, and by the time Kyla and Jason got home for dinner, everyone was pretty done discussing comics and various representations of Batman in pop-culture.

One thing they decided to do, however, was watch _The Dark Knight Trilogy._ Since it was Friday, it didn’t even matter that it would keep them up pretty much until Damian got home.

Tim had already seen the movies before, as had Kyla. But Dick and Bruce hadn’t. And really the only reaction they got from Bruce was a gruff, “I don’t kill.”

And that was that.

Dick and Bruce took the whole fictional character thing much better than Tim had been anticipating.

\----

They finally all went to bed around 3am, and Tim fell asleep pretty much as soon as his head hit the pillow. The next thing he knew, however, was tiny little knees digging into his stomach as a whiney 23-month-old climbed on top of him.

Tim groaned as he opened his eyes and peeked over at the clock. 3:43. It was not time for this little rugrat to be awake. He still had two hours before he had to feed her and then let her play on his iPad or something while he napped for a few more hours.

“Hi pumpkin, getting cozy?” he muttered as she finished climbing on him to lay on his chest, “Sorry I didn’t hear her cry.”

“She didn’t,” Kyla whispered, the sleep heavy in her voice as well, “She came in here on her own. I woke up when she tugged at the blankets.”

Great. She’d figured out how to climb out of her crib. Tim was actually kind of surprised it had taken her so long. Hopefully she didn’t hurt herself in the drop to the ground.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin,” he asked, pulling the blanket out from under the girl to drape over both of them as he rubbed at her back.

Bristol sniffed and said, “Scared,” as she grabbed a fist of Tim’s shirt.

Tim frowned and wrapped both his arms around the little girl. “Why are you scared?”

“Ba man,” she whined, buying her face into Tim’s chest.

“Princess,” he soothed, petting her hair, “there’s no reason to be scared of Batman.”

“Oh,” Kyla groaned lightly, “guess she pays more attention than we thought to whats on TV.”

Tim just smiled tiredly, his eyes still closed. This was going to start their lives as _those_ parents who watched _Teletubbies_ or _Barney_ or whatever the heck kids watched. Great.

“Scared,” Bristol whined again.

“It was just a movie, darling,” he said, continuing to pet her comfortingly, “don’t be scared.”

“Daddy,” she squeaked, and Tim did fully smile at that. This was her hamming it up again, wasn’t it? She knew exactly how to tug at his strings and make him melt, too. Because he did.

“I’ve got you sweetheart, just go back to sleep.”

And with that, Bristol snuggled down a bit more and fell asleep fairly quickly. Apparently she was just waiting for Tim to cave and let her sleep in their bed. Because he had the energy to get up and put her back in her crib…

The bed shifted and Tim heard Kyla say, “Tim,” and her tone was saying ‘it’s not just a movie.’

Which, she was half way right. The movie wasn’t accurate. But, Batman was real, and Batman was scary. Bristol was still too young to really differentiate between scary things that could hurt her, and scary things that would never hurt her. Obviously Bruce was the latter, but at not-quite-two, she just wasn’t quite there developmentally.

This was just yet another thing they’d have to talk about.

\----

On Sunday, Tim found himself alone in the apartment. Alone on a peaceful, beautiful day. It was the perfect time for a nap.

Kyla had taken Bristol to go see her mother, an excursion that Tim rarely accompanied them on. Kyla’s mom _still_ did not like Tim, and quite frankly he did not want to subject himself to that bullshit. Him going over there would do nothing good for him, so why waste his time?

Besides, Bruce had kept them up ridiculously late. The man simply did not sleep much at night, a side effect of being nocturnal for the better part of 20 years, Tim was sure. But instead of just sitting there _quietly_ so all the normal, well-adjusted people in the apartment could sleep, he decided to practice his martial arts. In a sixth floor apartment. At 3 in the morning. After they’d been up so late the night before, too. Needless to say, Tim had to talk down an angry downstairs neighbor and then deal with an annoyed Bruce.

As punishment, and also so Tim could get a blissful couple hours of sleep, Tim sent Bruce out on the weekly grocery run. Dick had tagged along, too, just for the fun of it. Tim had _almost_ wanted to go along, as well, just to see Bruce Wayne at a grocery store, but the idea of taking a nap in an empty apartment was too tempting.

Having the apartment to himself never happened anymore. Not with six adults and a baby living there. Seven people in a three bedroom apartment. It felt cramped, most the time. So Tim jumped on the opportunity to lay on the couch and just doze.

But of course, it was too good to be true. Jason and Damian had been out. Tim had no idea where, he just knew the two of them had ‘gone out’ at some point during the morning. He didn’t much care, either, until a familiar tenor and baritone set of voices lured him out of his sleep after only an hour.

“Fucking hell,” Jason grumbled, “the hell did you do that?”

Damian laughed and said, “Trade secret.”

“I bet you googled it. You googled cheats and are cheating now. You fucking cheater.”

“Like I’d have to cheat to win against you,” Damian said smugly, and Tim could just hear the smile in his voice, “Hell, _Tim_ could win against you.”

The exchanged made Tim want to smile, until they decided to drag him. But letting them know he was awake wasn’t worth defending his honor. He just knew defending himself would mean he’d have to sit up and play with them, whatever stupid game they were playing, and he wanted to sleep.

Thankfully, the two of them were silent again for a while. So long, in fact, that Tim nearly fell back into a deep sleep. But then Damian’s hoarse voice cut in.

“You know, I’m surprised you're still here.”

There was a rustling of fabric, and the sound of buttons being mashed a bit more roughly than necessary.

“I just figured you'd snatch a teleporter from Father within a day of them arriving,” Damian continued, “You did say you wouldn’t spend a single extra second here.”

“Yeah, well,” Jason eventually said, before clearing his throat to add a bit clearer, “Gotta leave two weeks notice, all that jazz.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up, Demon,” Jason snapped, and the sounds of their controllers took over for another minute before Jason said, “Why? Do you want me gone?”

Tim could just imagine Damian shrugging, because the teen didn’t respond, but Jason reacted as if he had.

“I can leave.” He voice wasn’t taunting, though. Not uncaring. It was almost apprehensive, as if he were scared the answer might be ‘yes, please do.’

It took longer than Tim wanted. So long, actually, Tim was considering sitting up and assuring Jason himself that he was welcome, but then Damian finally said with a smirk in his voice, “I mean, whose ass will I kick at xbox if you leave?”

Jason laughed, so easily and lightly Tim couldn’t not smile at it, as he said, “Oh you think this is kicking my ass? I’m not even trying.”

“Please,” Damian scoffed, “if you _could_ win you’d done it by now.”

“I’m letting you win to preserve your delicate little assassin ego.”

“Kicking your ass,” Damian corrected, and Tim heard when Jason shoved Damian.

He also heard as they continued wrestling for a good few minutes, between muffled laughter and occasional grunts of pain. Unfortunately, he also heard when a glass got knocked off the coffee table and broke into a million pieces on the hardwood floor.

“Oops” Damian said at the same time Jason added “Fuck.”

“Guys,” Tim groaned, not even willing to address the whole broken glass thing, because he hoped they were adult enough to _clean it up_ without being told, “Can’t you go play video games in your room? I’m trying to sleep here.”

“Can’t you go sleep in _your_ room,” Jason challenged, as he was, indeed, picking up the larger pieces of glass with his hands, “I’m trying to destroy the demon.”

“You’ve lost the past three rounds, dumbass,” Damian said from where he was retrieving the broom from the supply closet.

“No,” Tim whined, “I want to sleep here.”

Damian started sweeping up the little pieces as Jason said, “And we want to play video games here.”

Tim scrunched his face at Jason and pouted, “It’s my house.”

“It’s not a house,” Jason countered.

Damian, being the traitor he was, continued to side with Jason and said, “Plus, this _is_ the common area. So we have as much right to be here as you.”

Tim grumbled as he sat up to glare at the two of them. “I’ll kick you out.”

“No you won’t,” Damian dismissed easily as he finished sweeping the glass into the dustpan, “empty threats do not become you, Timothy.”

Snorting at the brat, Tim looked Jason straight in the eyes and said, “True. You’re both always welcome here.”

“Shit. How long were you awake?” Jason demanded, scowling, “Don’t listen in on private conversations, Timbers. It’s not nice.”

“Don’t have private conversations in the same room as me, then.”

“He’s right, though,” Damian said, sitting back down on the floor and retrieving the controller from where he’d abandoned it, “you are always welcome here.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but Tim could see how the tips of his ears had turned a bit more pink, and how he was trying his best to suppress a smile. His younger brothers were both so funny with accepting random verbal affection.

“Great,” Tim said, smiling contentedly, “Now that we love each other, get out. I’m trying to sleep.”

“Nah,” Damian said, and with that, the two of them went back to their video game, and Tim went back to sleep.

\----

Weeks went by, and eventually the family fell into a nice routine. It was still rough having so many people living in their tiny apartment. Rough on everyone, especially Dick and Bruce with having the two of them in the living room, but they were figuring it out.

What they weren’t figuring out, however, were the answers to all the tough questions returning home posed.

Bristol’s birthday was mere days away, which meant only two months left in this world. Two months, if they returned July 1st as originally agreed.

Two months, and Tim hadn’t even told his university he wouldn’t be returning for the Fall. Two months and Damian hadn’t told his show his last show would be in July. Two months and Kyla hadn’t told her mother how close to leaving they were.

Two months, and they were all just procrastinating.

The realization must have hit Damian, as well, because late one Sunday night, Tim found Damian sitting up on the roof. Right where he always went when he was working through something and needed space and air to think.

“Hey kiddo,” Tim greeted as he exited the stairwell and made his way over to the edge where Damian was sitting, “what’s got you up here?”

“Oh, you know,” Damian said, waving a hand in the air to mean ‘everything’ and ‘nothing’ all at the same time, “the usual.”

Tim nodded and climbed up to sit next to the brat. He hadn’t been on the roof since Bruce and Dick arrived, and even they he hadn’t really enjoyed the roof. It’d been quite a long time since he came up here to just sit. As always, the view was remarkable. “Anything I can help with?”

“Probably not,” Damian admitted, “but I’ll let you know.”

Nodding again, Tim looked out at the city and sighed. “Are you freaking out about this whole going back thing? Because I’m freaking out.”

The corner of Damian’s mouth twitched. “What’s to be worried about? It’s just going back to a world that thinks I’m a violent little 10-year-old. A really fucking annoying, violent little 10-year-old whose parents are fighting over custody and how to raise him while simultaneously ignoring him half the time. Nothing to worry over.”

“Is that how it looked to you?” Tim asked, resting his head against Damian’s shoulder.

The kid shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I know they both care about me, I realize that now. In different ways, maybe, but it’s still there.”

“Hmm. Also,” Tim added, “don’t cuss. You aren’t allowed to cuss until you’re 22, remember? Don’t let Jason influence you.”

Damian snorted and jostled Tim a little, “So what are _you_ worried about?”

Tim sighed and sat up. “I don’t know. Everything, I guess.”

When Damian didn’t react, but instead sat silently and patiently, Tim continued, “I just don’t know where I’m going in life. What am I going to do? Will I be CEO and Red Robin, or will I figure out how to transfer my PhD and continue being a professor? Or will I go down another path entirely? Volunteer someplace and live off my trust fund and inheritance. I guess it’s the not knowing that’s freaking me out.”

“You just need to ask yourself what you want.”

“That’s the problem,” Tim replied, “I don’t know what I want.” All he really wanted was his daughter, but it was difficult to find the right balance that would allow him to keep her safe and happy in such a dangerous world. In one where so much was expected of him.

Shrugging, Damian said, “Then start there.”

“What about you?” Tim asked a couple minutes later, “What do you want? Are you gonna go be on Broadway in our world?”

“I don’t think so,” Damian replied simply, “I really enjoy it, but it’s not as rewarding as I thought it’d be.”

Blinking, Tim furrowed his brows down at the city. Damian had called theater his _passion._ Had set everything else aside to pursue it. Had dedicated nearly half his life to it, and it wasn’t as rewarding as he thought? “What do you mean?”

“Like I said, I enjoy it. I’ll probably keep acting. Find a show in Gotham to participate in. Perhaps even professionally, but I won’t be moving to NYC and putting this much of myself into it.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Tim asked, already knowing the answer. There was only one reason he could think of that would prevent Damian from leaving Gotham.

“I’m going to put back on a cape and get to know my dad.”

Okay, so two reasons.

“You never really said,” Damian rasped after a prolonged silence, “but will you be returning to the cape?”

Tim sat sill for a minute. Then another. The clear answer was ‘no.’ He didn’t _want_ to. But he didn’t know if that meant he wouldn’t, or if he’d just reluctantly do so.

“I, uh,” he finally said, clearing his throat as he shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

“That’s what I figured,” Damian said, offering Tim a slight smile, “you know that’s okay, right?”

And despite himself, Tim laughed. He laughed because Damian was the one comforting him, assuring him that he’d be accepted by the family. That hadn’t even been one of his concerns, but it was touching that Damian felt the need to tell him anyway.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

“Take your time,” Damian said, gazing back over the city, “You don’t need to know all the answers to everything now. You have a lifetime to find your place in the world.”

Perhaps that was true. Maybe he didn’t need to have his career plans set in stone now. He could figure it out later. It’s not like they’d starve and end up on the street if Tim were indecisive for a short time upon returning, right?

\----

“Okay, so I think the question we really need to discuss,” Kyla said that night after Tim had shared his and Damian’s conversation with the girl, “is ‘where are we going to live?’”

“Hmm?” Tim asked as he slipped his socks off and tossed them into the hamper across the room.

“In Gotham? Because that city sounds fucking scary, Tim,” she said, giving him a scornful look, “I don’t want to live in Gotham.”

Tim shrugged. That was a fair point. “We can always live in the Manor, if you’ll feel better there. It’s probably the safest place on Earth, in all honesty. And Alfred would love it, having a baby to spoil.”

Kyla scrunched her nose and said, “I don’t want to live with your dad, either. That’s just weird.”

“Well,” Tim continued, “I can probably buy a house in Bristol on my inheritance. Maybe even sustain one on it. But if I take back my CEO job, we could definitely afford Bristol ourselves. And your career, once you start it, would help, too.”

“You said you didn’t really want to be CEO, and you’d rather be a professor.”

“Kyla,” he said tiredly, “I don’t know what I want to do. But I’ll do whatever I need to for this family.”

“No,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at Tim, “don’t sacrifice yourself in the name of ‘keeping us happy.’ We don’t need you supporting us on your shoulders alone, Tim. We’re a team here.”

“Kyla,” he groaned, because he hadn’t meant to suggest it was up to him _alone_ to support them. That only he could possibly keep them happy and afloat. Sure, he’d been the one supporting them so far, but that was merely because Kyla was in school. He _knew_ she was going to be just as large a bread winner as him once she got started with her career. If not more of one, if he kept down the professor career-path.

“Tim,” she parroted, raising an eyebrow at him, “you’re always so quick to sacrifice yourself in the name of others. Stop it and let’s figure out a solution that will make us _all_ happy, okay?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, lying down to go to sleep, “I mean, I am independently wealthy there. We could always just move to Oregon and raise chickens for the rest of our lives. I bet Oregon is pretty safe.”

“I’d be fine with that, as long as we live at least _near_ civilization.”

“Yeah, true,” he laughed, “I’d go crazy outside a city, too.”

“See,” she said, wrapping an arm around him, “we’ll figure it out. At the end of the day, I’ll be happy if I’m with you, okay?”

Tim wrapped his arm around her and agreed, “Yeah.”

\----

“Your accomplishments are very impressive,” Bruce said out of the blue one Saturday in early May.

The statement was so random, so entirely unexpected, that Tim visibly startled at Bruce’s voice. Even though they’d been sitting together at a cafe, having coffee. Really, they had gone out together specifically to have a little time alone. It had all been Bruce’s idea, so obviously Tim expected he had a conversation planned, but one that started out like this was not what he expected.

In truth, he was pretty sure the man was going to lobby for them to go back sooner, since he was always dropping hints that they should return home.

Tim realized he should probably respond, and let out an awkward, “Uh, thanks?” as he quickly tried to cover his discomfort with a sip of his coffee.

“I mean it,” Bruce said, frowning at Tim, “You got a PhD at 22 while being the sole person responsible for a teenager after having dropped out of high school. You, in essence, discovered the multiverse with very little technical foundation in the workings of the universe upon the start of your research. You built yourself a nice life after being completely stranded at only 16. It’s very impressive, son.”

Laughing awkwardly, Tim repeated, “Thanks,” as he tried to keep his face from turning bright red. He’d never been good at taking praise. He was never sure _how_ to take it.

“You know, Tim,” Bruce continued on, averting his eyes away, and that was the true sign that Bruce was about to get _really_ emotional. Or try to, at least. Tim felt oddly touched. “I don’t expect anything from you once we return home.”

Tim furrowed his brows at his coffee and said, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t have any desires for you other than for you to be yourself and do what _you_ want,” he clarified.

Scoffing, Tim rolled his eyes and took another sip of coffee. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“Good,” Bruce said, “I’m glad you have such a strong support system.”

“Red Robin isn’t in my plans,” Tim said frustratedly, “whatever I end up doing, it’s not that.”

Bruce simply nodded and took a long drink from his cup. “I figured. You said once, when you were a kid, that you weren’t going to be a vigilante forever. I’m a little relieved, actually. It means you’ll be safe.”

“Oh,” Tim said, frowning now. He had been expecting a least a little bit of a negative reaction to that, “and I don’t think I want to work for WE.”

“Okay,” Bruce agreed, “whatever you want, Tim. You don’t even _have_ to work. Retire early and be a family man. It’s entirely your choice.”

Tim just closed his eyes and sighed.

He already _knew_ that his family wouldn’t just abandon him because he didn’t take the path they wanted for him. He was pretty sure that, even if they did move to Oregon and raise chickens, which wasn’t actually an option because that sounded boring as hell, that Bruce would be supportive of it. Or at least not condemning of it, since there was a difference.

None of that was _really_ what was bothering him deep down, though. He knew exactly what was bothering him, he just refused to look at it.

Because it wasn’t the future that was scaring him.

It was _his world._

\----

“Why don’t you have an opinion on this?” Tim asked Kyla once they’d finally managed to keep Bristol in her new toddler bed long enough to fall asleep.

“I do have an opinion,” she replied, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Then why aren’t you sharing it with me?” he asked in exasperation, “You’re always so assertive, but when it comes to this you’re all like ‘oh Timmy whatever you want.’

Kyla rolled her eyes and tapped ‘next page’ on whatever she was reading on her iPad. “I never once said that.”

“Kyla,” Tim whined.

“Tim,” she mocked back, “are you wanting me to have a different opinion than what I do? Is that your real problem?”

“Well, no,” he said.

“Because I told you, as long as I have you, Bristol, and the choice to pursue a career or not, I don’t care where we live.”

“Ky,” he said tiredly.

“Tim, I’m happy either way. Seriously. Where will _you_ be happy?”

With a sigh, Tim retrieved his tablet from the end table and opened up his latest letter to Bruce to add to the flash drive he intended to give the man upon their return to Gotham, and handed it over to Kyla to read.

As she did, Tim felt strangely embarrassed. Almost vulnerable. Because he’d poured his heart out into this letter. Cried, even, while writing it. He felt like someone was peering into the deepest depths of his soul, reading it. Even if it was just Kyla, who should, and did, know everything about him.

“Okay,” she said, nodding, as she handed the tablet back.

“That’s it? Just okay?” he questioned, “Because if you don’t want to, we won’t."

“Honey,” she said, smiling sweetly in the way that always put Tim at ease. Melted his heart and soothed his anxieties. “I’m fine. Happy. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he echoed with a slight smile, then sobered and added solemnly, “So it’s decided.”

“Guess so.” Kyla turned her iPad off and cut the lamp next to her, then snuggled down next to Tim in bed.

Tim wrapped an arm around her and silently cried himself to sleep.

 


	32. Eight Years

Sunday dinner that next day was almost painful for Tim. Each time he looked around the table, he felt a pang of sadness. They were running out of Sundays. Fewer than eight left, actually.

Fewer than eight Sunday Dinners together.

And that was downright depressing.

All throughout dinner, Damian kept shooting questioning gazes at Tim, as if trying to figure out what was off about him. So Tim tried his best to play it off. To keep it all hidden. He wasn’t ready for the conversation between them yet.

But no matter how many jokes Tim told, or how often Damian’s mannerisms shifted to add cheerfully to the conversation, he always returned to studying Tim, and Tim realized they were going to have the conversation _soon._ Because Damian would figure it out on his own, otherwise.

At one point, Dick asked in jest if they’d get to meet any of their friends, other than Jordan, and Damian just snorted, “Like I’d let any of my friends meet you guys. Unlike Tim, I kept being Robin secret.”

“Aw, you ashamed, Dami,” Dick asked jokingly, nudging the teen with his elbow.

“Nah, just don’t want to deal with the repercussions of admitting to my assassin days,” he said easily, as if that were just a statement as casual as saying he didn’t want people to know he _danced_ or _painted._

Tim smiled and tried to shift the topic quickly, before anyone could get bogged down by the statement. “Well, there is someone I’d love for you guys to meet before you leave. He used to be my boss when I worked at RI and he’s been a steady encourager in our lives pretty much since the start of our time here.”

“Oh yeah?” Dick asked through a mouthful of pasta, “who is he?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed at Tim as he scrutinized him, and Tim tried to ignore him as he answered Dick’s question. “His name is Paul and he’s pretty awesome. I think you’d like him.”

“He practically adopted these two twerps,” Jason added, “you should see him. He dads them so hard it’s hilarious.”

Tim grinned, but added for Bruce’s sake, “He thought we were literal orphans, since that was the story we went with. He knows better now, don’t worry, but he’s still been a pretty important person in my life these past several years. He got me through a lot.”

Bruce chewed on his food for a moment, then said sincerely, “I’m glad you had someone like that, Tim, I’d be honored to meet him.”

“I, uh,” Tim said, as he felt the heat come to his face a bit, “I want to warn you, he’s not very _sold_ on the idea of Robins. Uh, he doesn’t like the idea of child superheroes at all. So, I don’t know, avoid that topic? And I’m sorry if he doesn’t?”

At that, Bruce chuckled. He actually, almost laughed. “Lots of people aren’t ‘sold’ on the idea of Robin, Tim. Don’t worry about it, I’ve been dealing with scorn for it for 15 years.”

“Oh, okay then,” Tim said nodding, “That’s good, I was a little-”

“Wait,” Damian cut in, his eyes narrowed as he started at Tim quizzically, “What do you mean, ‘before you guys leave.’ Where are they going that you aren’t?”

And Tim paled, knowing he looked exactly like a deer in headlights. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Tim could just see the gears turning in Damian’s head as he studied Tim more intensely. He was doomed. Doomed.

This was happening _now._

“Uh,” he let out, trying his best to smooth over his expression into a smile, “I just meant, before July.”

“Right,” Damian said, clearly unconvinced, “you weren’t freaking out about what you were going to do, were you? Or where you were going to live. Or even your _name._ Were you?”

“Damian,” Tim tried, because he could see the realization dawning in Damian’s eyes, and he _did not want this._

“You aren’t coming back with us, are you?” the kid practically hissed, and Tim could see the absolute betrayal at the statement the kid felt, “after all those times you promised you were—”

“Damian,” Tim begged, because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have this conversation at the table. Not in front of everyone. Not when he was so close to _crying_ over it. _Again._

“How could you,” Damian finally said, breaking eye contact to push off from the table and to storm off to his room.

“What?” Dick said, startled, just as Bruce’s expression turned to anger.

“Why not?” Bruce demanded, setting his fork down a tad too forcefully.

“Really,” Jason asked, scrunching his nose in disgust at the idea, “you’re picking this world over ours?”

Tim felt Kyla reach her hand out and pat Tim’s knee as he continued to stare at Damian’s door. Out of everyone there, it was _his_ reaction that mattered the most. His reaction he was most worried about, and Damian had had an entire plethora of emotions swirling around in his green eyes. So many emotions, and he had hidden it all behind anger. Like he hadn’t done in _years._

“But Tim,” Dick said softly, as if he were breaking bad news to someone, “you don’t belong here.”

Tim shook his head at Dick and stood to follow his little brother. He needed to fix this. Or… or… talk about it, at least. Smooth it over. Talk it out. _Something._

“Timothy,” Bruce snapped as Tim started toward Damian’s closed door, “we need to talk.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, “After I talk to Damian.”

Damian was the first priority.

 

“Damian?” Tim said as he knocked on the kid’s door, “Buddy, can I come in?”

The sharp, bitter laugher from the teenager made Tim frown deeper as he heard, “We both know you’re coming in anyway.”

“That’s true,” Tim conceded as he opened the door with a wry smile, “but it’s polite to ask.”

“God, Tim,” Damian half laughed from where he sat on his bed, looking up at Tim for just a second. Tim wanted to die when the kid turned back to face the wall, setting his head down in his hand as tears fell freely down his face.

“I’m sorry, Damian,” Tim offered as he shut the door behind him and joined Damian on the bed, “I- I wanted to tell you myself.”

“Right,” Damian said, still struggling to keep the bitter laugh out of his voice, “because that would have made everything all better.”

“Damian-”

“Tim,” the teen interrupted, burying his face into his hands, “just don’t.”

Frowning again, Tim set his hand on Damian’s back as the teenager silently cried. He had nothing to say for himself. He knew telling Damian was going to be the hardest part about deciding to stay.

No. Scratch that.

 _Leaving_ Damian was going to be the hardest part. Letting Damian leave. Never seeing him again…

God.

He’d raised this kid. This was _his_ kid, regardless of what anyone said. And he was going to have to say goodbye to him. Permanently.

The tears that welled up in his eyes weren’t exactly unexpected, but annoying nonetheless.

“I love you, Dames. You know that,” Tim said, resting his forehead against the back of Damian’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” the kid choked out, “I do too. Love you. And— just— _Why?”_

And the rawness to Damian’s voice. The way his crying became more desperate the longer he tried to speak broke what was left of Tim’s heart.

“Damian,” he began, just to have his little brother interrupt him again.

His massive little brother whom he wanted nothing more than to scoop up and hold. To hug onto until all his pain went away. Because for as big as the kid had grown, as much as he’d matured over the years, with everything he’d accomplished, deep down he was still that little 10-year-old who just wanted someone to love him.

“Aren’t I enough?” he cried.

“Of course you are, kiddo,” Tim said, struggling to keep his composure, “of _course_ you are.”

“Obviously not.”

“No, Dames,” Tim said, wrapping his arms around his brother the best he could, trying his best to comfort the kid. The teen. The _adult._ “It isn’t about that. It’s not—” about you, Tim wanted to say. But he couldn’t get those words out. It felt so selfish of him to make a major life decision and not include Damian in some manner.

But sometimes, people have to be selfish.

“Then what is it about?” Damian asked, sniffing as he rubbed his face again. And despite everything, Tim was suddenly hit with a bit of pride for the kid. Pride that Damian Wayne was openly crying and doing nothing to hide it. No apologies for it, nothing. He was crying about something that made him upset, and talking it through without apologizing for his feelings.

Tim loved this brat with all his heart.

“I can’t go back,” Tim admitted in a small voice, “I can’t do it, Damian. I was so unhappy there. So beat down…”

“You were a teenager,” Damian protested, “it won’t be the same now.”

“Yeah, but it was so much more than that,” Tim said, letting go of Damian to sit up a bit, “And it’s been less than a month there. I might be different, but there isn’t. Everyone there is expecting Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO. Red Robin. I just— I can’t go back to that. I don’t _want_ to go back to that. I’m happy where I’m at. I want to _stay_ happy.”

“But Tim,” Damian said petulantly, “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you don’t _want_ to be or do something, don’t. It’s that simple.”

“I can’t,” Tim insisted, “I can’t just sit by and watch. I won’t be able to watch you guys go out every night and risk your lives, knowing _I_ can help. Knowing _I’m_ needed. The second something happens, one of you are in trouble, something or someone attacks, I’ll be suiting up to help and then I’ll never stop until I die. I know myself well enough to know that, and Damian _I can’t do that._ I can’t do that to Kyla. I can’t do that to Bristol. And you know how dangerous our lives are there. I don’t want to put either of them in danger.”

I don’t want _you_ in danger either, Tim added silently. Knowing Damian was going back home to be a vigilante terrified him. It was such a noble cause, they did so much _good_ and were _needed_. But it was dangerous, and it scared him to think that any night his little brother, his kid, could die. Just like that, at the snap of a finger, he’d be gone. It was terrifying.

But Damian was his own person. Just like Tim was _his_ own person, and they couldn’t make those decisions for each other. If Damian wanted to save the world, Tim was going to cheer him on and support him.

Even if it killed him inside.

“You promised,” Damian whispered and Tim just closed his eyes, because he was pretty sure he knew where this was headed, “you promised you’d never leave me.”

“Damian,” he tried, but the teenager stood up angrily and turned on him.

“No,” he shouted, “just don’t. I don’t want to hear it.” Taking a deep breath, Damian pinched the bridge of his nose and paced the room a couple times before he finally added, must softer, “I trusted you, Tim. You said you would never abandon me, and here you are _leaving me._ Just like I knew you would. I should have never— I shouldn’t have…”

And Tim lost it. He couldn’t keep himself composed any longer, because the way Damian was breaking down was more than enough to break him down.

Damian _trusted_ him. Past tense. Tim had betrayed Damian’s trust.

Their relationship would never be the same after this, would it?

They weren’t even going to _have_ a relationship. Damian was leaving. Time was moving faster here. Even if they did visits, if they figured that out, it would take less than a year in Damian’s world for Tim’s entire lifetime to pass. Tim would never be able to visit Gotham for more than a few minutes, at best, due to the risk of missing too much time in this world. Screwing up their identities. Aging wrong.

Damian was right. This was abandoning him. This was abandoning everything.

And still… he still wasn’t going to change his mind.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim cried, burying his own face into his hands, “I’m so sorry, Dames.”

“I know you are,” Damian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again, “Just… I need to get some air.”

Tim let him go. Let him walk out of his room and out the apartment. There was nothing more he could say to make things better. He’d hurt Damian, and there was no way to fix it.

He just hoped he hadn’t destroyed the kid.

 

Tim took a few minutes to pull himself back together before he left his little brother’s room. He was expecting as much, but it was still exhausting when Bruce immediately stood and said, “We need to talk,” the second Tim walked out.

“Yeah, I know,” Tim said tiredly, motioning for Bruce to follow him to the balcony.

Bruce didn’t even wait for Tim to close the sliding door behind them before he started in on Tim. “What on earth are you thinking?” he demanded, “You can’t stay here, Tim. This isn’t your universe.”

Just like it always had, Bruce using his Batman voice on him just made Tim angry.

“I’ve been here eight years, Bruce,” Tim challenged, “That’s a third of my life.”

“That doesn’t make this your home,” he shot back, looming over Tim, “You don’t know whether you’re making this universe unstable by being here, either. You can’t stay here.”

Tim squared his shoulders and glared up at his father, refusing to be intimidated. “I’ve been studying the universe for eight years, Bruce. I haven’t noticed anything wrong.”

“And it took you how many of those years to even figure out a portal? You don’t know whether you being here is affecting the universe because you don’t know much about it.”

At that, Tim’s eyebrows shot up as he stared at the man in disbelief. “Are you serious?” he said, laughing bitterly at the implication that he was _incompetent_ , “So what do you suggest? If you’re so worried about destabilizing the universe, why would you want Kyla and Bristol to come back to your world? You want to destabilize that one?”

“What?” Bruce said, startled, “No.”

“Then you’re suggesting I leave Kyla and Bristol here?” Tim demanded, taking a step closer to his dad, “Because that isn’t happening, Bruce. I don’t think you’ve fully grasped that she’s my _daughter.”_

 _“_ And you’re _my son,”_ Bruce thundered.

Tim blinked, every ounce of fight he had left drained away with those two words.

And it was stupid, but hearing Bruce admit that always got to him. Because Bruce was Bruce, and he rarely voiced what people meant to him. Tim _knew_ Bruce loved him. Of course he did, but it was always nice to be reminded of the fact.

Sighing, Tim walked to the railing and looked out over the city. It was so much like Gotham, and yet so different.

Both cities were gorgeous at night. Especially from up high.

But where Gotham was dreary, New York was bright. This city was missing the constant feeling of dread. The reminder of the fragility of life, of civility. Gotham felt like a pot of boiling water, just seconds away from boiling over. New York, on the other hand, just seemed so much more stable. So much happier.

After a moment, Bruce came to stand at his side and the two of them stood in silence for several minutes, just observing the city.

Tim could smile here. He could be happy here. It wasn’t a city that needed saving. It was a city he wasn’t scared to raise a daughter in. And at the end of the day, that little girl was the most important person in the world. In all of every universe.

And Tim would do anything to keep her safe, including walking away from his own universe.

“I’m an adult, Bruce,” Tim finally said, tightening his hands around the railing. Not even as a teenager had he ever let Bruce walk all over him, but it didn’t make defying him any easier. Back talking and arguing.

“But… you’re 16,” Bruce said numbly.

Tim closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, but no. I’m 23,” he opened his eyes and turned to face Bruce, determination in his eyes, “and when I was 16, I was already emancipated.”

The man opened his mouth to respond, but Tim cut him off.

“Bruce, I get it. I really do,” he said softly, “I understand your point of view, but you have to look at it from mine.”

“How can you understand?” Bruce asked, narrowing his eyes, “Your son wasn’t ripped from you. You aren’t being asked to just let your child leave you _forever.”_

And it shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t, because it should make him angry, but the comment made Tim laugh, strong and loud. “You know,” he said, smiling bitterly, “I’ve raised Damian for the past eight years. I’ve watched him turn from an insecure, pretentious, angry little 10-year-old to this confident, happy, talented, _amazing_ adult.”

Tim watched Bruce carefully as he spoke, watched as the man’s posture shifted from angry to unsure. Uncomfortable. He hated that he was reminding Bruce about how he’d missed out on his youngest son’s childhood, but the man needed to understand.

“Damian is my brother,” Tim continued, “not my son, but I love him just as much as I love Bristol. He’s my kid, Bruce. That’s how I’ve viewed him for years. And you know what’s about to happen, B? Do you?”

He paused, allowing the question to sink into Bruce. Get through his thick skull that they were all making sacrifices here, then continued, “He’s about to go back home with his father, because he wants the opportunity to know his dad.”

“And he wants to go back to the superhero life,” Tim added, turning back to the city as he closed his eyes, “God help him, he’s just like you. He wants to do good in the world and be involved in something bigger than himself. I am insanely proud of him, but I’m about to lose him, B. I’ll probably never see him again.”

“Tim,” Bruce said quietly, and Tim turned his gaze back to his dad, allowing the fury to finally come.

“So don’t you _dare_ tell me I _don’t understand_ what I’m asking you to do,” he said darkly, “Because I understand.”

\----

Damian spent the next week absolutely livid with Tim. He hardly said ten words to Tim, and it was killing him. Bruce, similarly, was disgruntled, and it put the entire apartment under an atmosphere of absolute discomfort.

Tim felt unwelcome in his own home, and as annoying as that was, in the end it just _hurt._

Because they had so little time left together, and they were going to spend it angry at him.

So Tim did what he always did when he wasn’t sure what to do. He called Paul and invited him over for lunch on Saturday.

When Paul greeted Bruce with a, “Mr. Wayne,” however, Tim realized it was probably actually a terrible idea.

A really awful, terrible, horrible idea.

“Mr. Blackwell,” Bruce greeted without missing a step, “It’s great to meet you. I’ve heard quite a lot about you from Tim.”

“Likewise,” Paul said, smiling his businessman smile, and Tim just groaned. Realizing both men had facades they could put on when dealing with difficult clients. With people they didn’t like but had to put up with anyway.

“Okay,” he said, walking to stand right beside each of them, “can we stop it with this… whatever this is? Paul, you said you’d be happy to meet my dad. Bruce, you said you’d be happy to meet Paul. So… can we be happy about it?”

Paul laughed and clapped a hand on Tim’s back, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Tim. It really is a pleasure to meet you. Your boy here is remarkable, you should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Bruce said, nodding at Tim, “I always have been.”

Tim ducked his head and pulled away from Paul’s hand to go finish fixing lunch. It was just going to be the three of them plus Dick and Jason, since Kyla and Bristol were over at her mom’s again. Which meant they were having chicken parmesan, and Tim was excited.

Besides, if the two of them wanted to have a pissing contest, one that involved showering Tim with compliments wasn’t too bad, Tim guessed.

“Hey Jay,” Tim heard Paul say when he walked into the living room, “How have you been?”

Tim tuned out their conversation as he warily watched Bruce approach the island and sit. He tried to keep working on putting the sauce together without letting Bruce’s gaze get to him, but it was difficult. He felt like the man was judging him. And _why?_ He was just making lunch.

“What?” he finally snapped, turning to meet Bruce’s eyes, “Just say whatever it is.”

“Why are you staying?”

“Really?” he asked, exasperated, “you’re asking me this _now_?”

“It’s a valid question.”

“For right now?” Tim asked, so annoyed at his father’s timing, “While Paul is here? Specifically to meet you?”

Bruce’s face didn’t soften, instead he just said coldly, “Answer the question, Timothy.”

Just like that, Tim shifted from exasperated to angry, all at the sound of his full name. “I hate it when you do that,” he snipped, turning around so his back was facing Bruce again.

“Do what?” the man questioned as he stood, the sound of the bar stool scraping across the tile acting like nails on a chalkboard to Tim. Great. He’d just made it worse by turning angry.

“Call me ‘Timothy’ just to scold me, like I’m a little child,” he grumbled, “It makes my name feel like a bad thing.”

“Oh,” Bruce said, now leaning against the counter directly beside the stove where Tim was working, “Sorry. I guess I never thought about that.”

And the tension seemed to just dissolve at that. Bruce’s tone wasn’t angry, and his posture was rather relaxed, even if forcibly so. In fact, if anything, Bruce seemed apprehensive and insecure. Not angry.

“Bruce,” Tim said tiredly, “what is this _really_ about?”

It took a minute. A long, agonizing minute, mostly for Bruce by the looks of it, while the man seemed to gather his thoughts. Finally, though, he took a deep breath and said, “Are you happier here? With this support system? Is that why you’re staying?”

Tim stirred the sauce while he processed the questions, then realization hit him like a brick. “Are you asking me if Paul is a better _dad_ than you are?” he whispered in disbelief. Just because Jason said… that didn’t mean.

When Bruce didn’t respond other than to awkwardly shift his weight from one foot to the other, Tim said, “Bruce. Come on, don’t do this to yourself. You’re my dad, you realize that, right? You were the first person in my life to say, aloud, with words, that you _wanted_ me. And—”

“Tim,” Bruce interjected, holding out his hand as Tim had to pause to keep from breaking down.

But Tim held up his hand, “No. Let me finish. You have no idea what you really mean to me. I know we don’t use these words, but I love you. I really do. And I’m not choosing to stay here because I decided I found a better dad. For heaven sake, Bruce. _You’re_ my dad.”

“The support system I found here has been great, but it’s not _better_ than the one back home. Just different. When I was a kid, I needed someone to want me and love me, and you did that. Here, I needed someone to encourage and support me, and Paul did that. It’s not the same.”

“So why,” Bruce asked, his voice strained, as though speaking were incredibly difficult.

“I wasn’t picking my friends and family here over my friends and family in Gotham,” Tim said honestly. Because he hadn’t. None of them had even been in the equation. “I picked the safety of this world over the dangers of that one. I just want to keep my daughter safe, Bruce, and I thought this was the best way to do that.”

Bruce just nodded, and finally rested his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You’re a good father, Tim. Much better that I ever was.” Before Tim could respond, refute the comment, Bruce pulled him into an unexpected hug and whispered hoarsely, hurriedly, as if the very words were painful to get out, but also the most important thing he would ever say, “and I love you, too.”

And damn Bruce, because that pushed Tim over the edge, and once again he started crying.

Right there. In the middle of the kitchen. In his father’s arms.

\----

Damian’s graduation was the third Wednesday in June. Amazingly enough, Damian had been granted three extra tickets for all five of them and Paul and Laura to attend, managing to get all seven of them in at the ceremony. When usually only four tickets were given to each graduating student.

“It’s because he’s an orphan and they all feel bad,” Jason said as they all marveled at the thought.

“Nah,” Kyla dismissed, “It’s because he’s a Broadway star, duh.”

“Obviously it’s my charming personality and you guys are just jerks,” Damian snipped, bouncing a bit in his excitement.

And dang. Damian was graduating High School. Only the second one out of the four of them to even do that. And it was _Damian._

“I’m so proud of you, Dames,” Tim said, smiling affectionately at his little brother, “Like, you have no clue. My heart it exploding—”

“Oh my god, Tim,” Damian whined, “Stop. I get it.”

Tim grinned, patting Damian on the back. “Okay, I’ll quit embarrassing you.”

“No you won’t,” Damian groaned.

“I love you guys,” Dick said, catching up to walk right between Tim and Damian and wrap his arms around both of them, “acting like brothers.”

“Where have you been the past couple months, Dick,” Damian asked, “we’re always like this.”

“I know,” the man responded, letting go of them both, “It’s great.”

“Aren’t you glad I made you go to P.S. 51 now?” Tim asked as they approached the school and stopped before parting ways, Damian toward where students gathered and the rest of them to the audience, “Just think, had I let you be ‘homeschooled,’ and sit around the apartment all day, you wouldn’t be doing this today.”

“Tim,” Damian said seriously, looking down at him with a fierceness in his eyes Tim rarely saw, “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.”

Smiling now, Tim enveloped Damian in a hug, which was immediately returned. Even if they were parting ways in just a couple weeks. Even if Damian was still pretty upset with him over the whole ordeal, Tim was nothing but proud of the kid. Overwhelmingly proud. And grateful he even _had_ this kid. Had the opportunity to raise him, to take care of him for the past eight years.

“Love you, kiddo,” he said, giving Damian a pat on the back before he let go.

“Aww,” Dick cooed, while Jason snickered.

“Ruining the moment, Dick,” Damian mumbled, releasing Tim.

“Don’t care,” the man sang, “I got a picture.”

“Okay, off you go,” Bruce said, putting his own hand on Damian’s shoulder, “we’ll be in the stands cheering you on.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Damian said as he turned on his heels and bounded off toward the student line up.

“You know,” Bruce said as they met up with Paul and Laura and then made their way to the stands together, “I’m glad we stayed for this. It’s… nice.”

“This is surreal,” Dick said as they took their seats, “Bruce is happy. Damian is happy. Everyone is happy. Tim, what did you _do?”_

Tim snorted, internally laughing at the idea that anyone was exactly _happy_ right now, but said anyway, “What makes you think _I_ did anything?”

“Please, Timbers,” Jason scoffed, waving a hand at them all, “you’ve been nothing but a mediator ever since I got here, trying your best to make everyone get along. Who else would it have been?”

“For Damian? It was a lot of people. Most importantly, though, it was _him,”_ Tim said, motioning down to the stage where Damian would be momentarily, because the speaker had just come out to introduce the graduating class, “He’s the one responsible for where he’s at right now.”

“He’s a great kid,” Paul agreed, as they all settled in to watch Damian walk into the ceremony, “he’s come a long way since I first met him.”

“And an even longer way since _we_ first met him,” Tim added, content to watch his little brother accept his High School diploma.

Had anyone told him eight years ago when they first arrived in this world that one day, Damian would be a happy, healthy 18-year-old graduating from an actual public high school, Tim would have laughed. He would have laughed harder than he ever had in his entire life.

This was not the path he thought Damian would take. It’s not the path he thought _he_ would take, either. But looking back, Tim realized he wouldn’t change any of it for the world. Every single hardship they’d faced, every difficult moment, had led them to this day. To their lives. To their friends and family, and Tim wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

If only he could keep it all.

\----

The temporary bliss caused by Damian’s graduation did not last very long.

In fact, they were all back to snipping at each other the very next day. Snipping, because the other option was to wallow in the knowledge that they were all about to say goodbye.

And no one wanted to do that.

After one particularly rough day a week before the set return date, Tim wandered past the door to the balcony and stopped, noticing someone was out there.

The balcony was one of Damian’s favorite places to sit and think, when he didn’t escape the apartment entirely for the roof. Tim understood the reasoning behind it. It was almost like sitting on a rooftop in Gotham. The cool night air mixed with the sounds of the city were always so relaxing when Tim was a kid, and NYC was pretty similar in that respect.

If only their apartment were higher up than six floors.

It almost came as no surprise, then, to find Bruce standing out on the balcony late one night, just observing the city below.

Like father, like son, Tim supposed.

“Hey Bruce,” Tim greeted as he slid the door shut behind him.

In lieu of a respond, Bruce grunted his acknowledgement, and continued looking out over the city.

“Damian likes sitting out here when he’s trying to work through something, too,” Tim said, taking a seat on one of the chairs they had out there.

“Hrn.” Bruce shifted some, stood up straighter before he turned to face Tim. “I can see why. It is peaceful out here.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, “So what’s on your mind?”

“You know the answer to that,” Bruce said simply, raising an eyebrow at Tim.

“Yeah, fair,” Tim conceded, “it’s on my mind, too.”

“You can change your mind,” Bruce said, as if it were actually an option.

And yeah, sure, it _was_ technically an option. But it wasn’t one he was going to take.

“Bruce,” he said, gearing up for another argument about it.

“I know, Tim,” the man interrupted, “I understand.”

Tim nodded and stood to stand next to his dad, like he wouldn’t get to do very many more times.

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my 16-year-old is 23 with a family. And my 10-year-old is an adult. You guys changed _so much_ in the past eight years.”

Nodding, Tim said, “Damian’s come a long way from the insecure little 10-year-old you knew, but he has his moments where that little kid pops back through.”

Bruce turned to face the city, too, as Tim leaned forward and gazed off toward the harbor. “Just- take care of him, okay?” he added, after a moment of silence.

“He’s my son, Tim, of course I’ll take care of him,” Bruce replied tiredly. Frustratedly. Because they were both tired of arguing. Tired of letting their last days together be marred by fights and harsh words.

But for once, Tim needed to start it. He needed to get out his concerns. He needed to make sure Damian would be okay. And now was as good a time as any. Better now than on their final day together.

“I know he’s an adult now,” Tim continued, refusing to become angered, “that’s something I have to tell myself a lot. He’s an adult now, I have to trust him. And I do trust him.”

“But you don’t trust me,” Bruce observed dryly.

“Damian needs stability,” Tim said, turning around to lean back against the railing, “he needs someone in his corner. On his side. Someone who won’t up and leave him the second things get tough. The second Damian makes a mistake.”

“Tim,” Bruce started, and his tone was enough to make Tim snap. The anger and accusation in the man’s voice was too much.

“No,” he replied back, just as fiercely, “you don’t get it. You have no idea what the past eight years have been like. How much work I put into our relationship. How much I poured into him, just to build up his ability to trust people. He was broken, Bruce. He was so broken it hurts just thinking about it, and I can’t stand here and lie to you saying it had nothing to do with you.”

“Then why let him even go with me?” Bruce demanded, “If I’m so terrible a father?”

“Bruce,” Tim responded, rubbing at his face, “You aren’t a terrible father. That isn’t what I meant. You do your best, I know you do, and you were enough for me. But Damian needed something different from what I needed, and he still needs that support.”

Bruce stared off into the distance, an almost wary expression on his face. In his stance.

“If I had my way,” he continued, “If I could control him, I wouldn’t let him go back with you. Not because you’re a bad dad, because you’re _not,_ but because I think he’s better off away from violence.”

Bruce closed his eyes and rubbed a hand down his face. Perhaps these were thoughts the man had had in the past, or perhaps it was new to him. Regardless, it was how Tim felt. But it didn’t change how _Damian_ felt. And Damian’s opinion was the most important one out of all of them.

“But if I did that to him,” Tim said, turning his gaze on Bruce, “if I forced him to stay here, he’d never forgive me. He’d never be happy again, because more than anything he wants to know _you._ He wants to work alongside _you_ , and help people the way _you_ help people, and I respect him for that.”

At that, Bruce finally looked over at Tim and met his eyes. And he looked, almost hopeful. Like Tim were actually offering him a chance with his own son.

“But I don’t want you undoing all the hard work, all the blood, sweat, and tears that went into him being the person he is today,” Tim said sternly, “It wasn’t all me. In fact, it was barely me. I can’t take credit for who he is, because Damian has really worked on himself, and so many people in this world have poured into him. Just… don’t undo it.”

“I would never try to undo any of the progress Damian has made,” Bruce snapped, back in the defensive, sending Tim closer back to anger in response.

“Don’t act like there isn’t precedent for my concerns,” he snapped right back, thinking back to the times Damian had been inadvertently hurt by Bruce’s actions, about all the times Damian questioned Bruce’s love for him as a kid, every single time the child cried in his arms over his own worth, “I’m not saying this just to make you feel terrible. I’m just trying to protect my kid, because here very soon I won’t be able to anymore.”

And that little kid, that precious little kid, probably didn’t need Tim protecting him anymore. He was an adult. He was strong, confident, and all grown up. But that didn’t change the protective instincts Tim felt toward him, probably _because_ of all the times Damian _did_ need his protection. His reassurance and love and support.

The only thing that Tim regretted. The only thing about _everything_ with their situation, was the fact that he would never be able to be there for Damian again.

“Take care of him, Bruce,” he whispered.

“I will, Tim. I promise.”

\----

“Hey Dames,” Tim said as he entered the boy’s room the day before they were all set to leave.

The kid had quit his show, his final performance being the day before, and was actually home for the first time on a weekday in over a year. Possibly longer.

And that, somehow, made it all the more painful.

“Tim,” Damian greeted from where he was sprawled across his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of Damian’s bed.

“Just peachy,” Damian sighed, spreading his arms out a bit further on either side of him.

Frowning, Tim set a hand on Damian’s ankle and squeezed, really unsure of what else to say. They had fewer than 24 hours left.

Twenty-four hours.

Probably more like fourteen or fifteen. But Tim didn’t want to look at a clock, because he didn’t want to know.

In fewer than twenty-four hours, he was going to say goodbye to his little brother for maybe the last time.

“Tim,” Damian said, startled, sitting up to quickly pull Tim into a hug, “don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry.”

Trying to laugh, Tim pushed his brother off him and wiped at his eyes. “I know. I know. I’m so sick of crying. Do you know how much I’ve cried in the last month? It’s ridiculous.”

Smiling wryly, Damian said, “I know.”

“Shut up, you stupid brat,” Tim complained, pushing Damian half-heartedly, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Yeah,” Damian choked out, scooting to the edge of the bed so he could sit directly next to Tim, “so am I.”

“Are you mad at me?” Tim asked after a prolonged silence, and Damian shifted so they were touching a bit more. Their shoulders pressed against each other.

“No,” Damian finally said, “I’m mad at your choice, but not at you.”

“That’s fair.”

“It takes about three days in that world for a year to pass in this one,” Damian said quietly, almost distantly, “you realize that, right?”

“I do,” Tim said slowly, not wanting, at all, to think about it.

“We won’t— I can’t—” Damian said, stopping to take a deep breath and regain his composure, “visits, Tim. I can visit you as often as I want. For the next ten months. And every time I come back, years will have passed. _Years.”_

“I know,” Tim said numbly.

“Will Bristol even remember me if I visit you in _a few days?_ She’s still so young, I doubt she’ll remember any of us.”

“Damian,” Tim said, putting a hand on the kid’s arm, trying to silence him and pull him off the train of thought.

“Every time I visit, I’ll be like a ghost from the past,” he continued on anyway, “and would I be doing more harm by visiting? Reopening old wounds that had healed for you, every time? Coming back to a family that remembers me from the distant past? Like a cousin you see once every ten years?”

“Damian,” Tim tried again, squeezing the brat’s arm this time. He could fear the tears coming on, see them start to well in his eyes. He didn’t want to think about _any of this._

“Tim,” Damian cried, grasping onto Tim’s hand with his freed arm, “I don’t think I can do that. I’m not sure I can handle it.”

Shutting his eyes, Tim leaned his head against Damian’s shoulder and said, “I understand.”

“Tomorrow’s goodbye, isn’t it?” Damian croaked, “forever.”

“I think so,” Tim agreed.

“I love you, Tim,” Damian said, as he let go of Tim to wrap his arm around and hug him tightly.

And those words were all it took. Because Damian usually reciprocated when _Tim_ said he loved Damian, but saying it himself?

He was his father’s son, after all.

“I love you, too,” Tim said, returning the hug as well as the sentiment.

And if they sat there, together, for a couple hours until Damian drifted off to sleep, what did it matter?

\----

Tim did not sleep. Even after he left Damian’s room and made his way to his own, he could not find sleep. He spent half the night trying not to cry, and the other half pretending that he wasn’t.

He’d been through a lot in his almost 24 years, but nothing as difficult as this.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d just never been given a warning that someone was about to get ripped from his life. He really wasn’t sure which method he preferred. Having enough warning to say goodbye or not.

Tim blinked up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his wife sleeping next to him. Why did time have to move so fast? It felt like just yesterday Damian was a tiny little kid.

_The sound of the television woke Tim, luring him out into the living room. Damian was usually pretty good at actually sleeping at night. Even if he didn’t he at least stayed in his bedroom and didn’t disrupt Tim’s sleep._

_But the kid was 12. He was bound to do something annoying, right? It’s what little brats did._

_So Tim got up and trudged out into the living room at half past 3 to find a tiny little demonbrat, lying on the couch, watching_ Teen Titans Go! _with a blanket tightly wrapped around him._

_“Hey kiddo,” he said sleepily, leaning over the back of the couch to gaze down at the boy. It was difficult to see, with the room being dark except the television, but Damian’s face looked like he’d been crying. Or trying hard not to._

_“Tim,” he said flatly, not even looking away from the screen. His voice betrayed no hint of emotion, no sign of distress. The teen leaned over further, putting his face between Damian and the television, forcing the child to look at him. The annoyance the kid tried to convey was vastly overwhelmed by the fear and sadness in his eyes. And the loneliness._

_So Tim rounded the couch and sat down right where the kid was lying, forcing him to sit up as he did. Damian just glared at him, his weight resting on his arms as he hadn’t fully sat up._

_Tim held his arm out in an inviting gesture, offering for the kid to lay back down on him. After a brief moment of contemplation, Damian did just that, mumbling, “I don’t want to talk about it.”_

_“That’s cool, you don’t have to,” Tim said, running his hand through the boy’s locks as he settled down into the couch, preparing to spend the night right there, comforting this little kid._

When morning finally came, Tim was glad to get up. He was sick of being alone with his mind. Kyla took care of Bristol’s morning routine, so Tim could have the last few hours with his family. Because they were leaving at noon.

Tim fixed breakfast while his dad and brothers quietly packed up whatever possessions they wanted to take with them. It was painfully nostalgic, how Damian sat at the counter, watching him cook. They hadn’t done that regularly in a long time.

“One day,” Damian said when Tim commented on it, “Bristol will be old enough to do this with you.”

“And I’ll think of you every time,” Tim said, flipping the set of pancakes he was working on.

_The trail ahead of them was long and flat. Not the kind of trail they usually hiked, since they typically ventured out into the mountains. But this one was flat, and it was incredibly inviting._

_Damian seemed to feel the same thing Tim did, because the little runt shrugged off his backpack and shoved it at Tim, before turning and taking off at a full sprint._

_Tim, knowing what was about to happen, slung the bag over his shoulder and pointed his camera toward the brat. After a dozen steps, Damian threw his hands out and turned a couple cartwheels, then pushed off his hands into a full back flip._

_The absolute, carefree joy on the child’s face wasn’t a sight Tim saw often. So of course he snapped a picture. Or ten._

_He’d honestly do anything to keep that smile on the boy’s face._

“Tim,” Dick said after breakfast, pulling the man away from the rest of the family, “Can we chat a minute?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tim said, following Dick toward an empty room.

They stood there, in complete silence, for what felt like a millennia. “Uh, Dick?” Tim finally said, raising an eyebrow at his older brother’s continued silence.

It wasn’t like Dick Grayson to not talk.

“Sorry,” Dick said, a slight croak in his voice, “I’m just really going to miss you.”

Tim frowned and took a step toward the man, not even making it the full way before Dick took the offer and enveloped Tim in a crushing hug.

“I am so proud of you, Tim,” Dick whispered into his ear, as Tim returned the hug, “Proud of the brother you’ve been to Damian, the father to Bristol. The man you are.”

Tightening his grip, Tim replied, a little shakily, “Thanks, Dick.”

“I mean it,” he said, pushing Tim away so they were looking at each other, “the world is a better place with you in it.”

_“In English today the teacher made us do an ice breaker,” Damian said, a pained expression on his face as he spoke._

_“Ugh,” Tim groaned while he sat on the couch near the 14-year-old, reading, “those are the worst.”_

_“Yeah, I hate the first day of new classes because of them,” the brat agreed, “but the prompt was ‘best thing that’s ever happened to us.’”_

_“Oh?” Tim said, raising an eyebrow._

_“Yeah,” Damian said, the crease in his brow deepening as he frowned, “I didn’t know what to say.”_

_“Hmm,” Tim said, not sure what else to say or even what Damian was wanting out of the conversation._

_“But I figured it out,” he continued, looking away now in embarrassment._

_“Oh yeah?” Tim asked, curiosity piqued._

_“Yeah. You.”_

“Hey,” Jason said as he flung himself down on the couch next to Tim at a quarter past 9, “change your mind yet?”

Tim snorted sarcastically and said, “Jay,” because it was all he could really say. He was a mess. An absolute mess.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” the man said, almost awkwardly, frowning as he folded his arms and leaned back.

Several minutes passed in silence, during which time, Tim just sat there. Leaned forward, his head rested in his hands. He was so fucking tired of crying. So over being upset and depressed. His face felt numb, his sinuses inflamed. He just wanted it to end. For it to all be over.

And he wanted it to never end.

So he stared straight ahead, to where Bristol was playing on the ground not far from him. She was really all he could look at. Because he had to keep reminding himself _why_ he was doing this.

And it was only barely keeping him together.

“I never thanked you,” Jason said quietly, eventually. And the words were so startling, Tim actually furrowed his brow in confusion.

“For?” Tim asked, sitting back so he was sitting more level with Jason. As level as he could with a dude six inches taller than him.

“I’ve-” Jason began, just to clear his throat and look away, “uh, I’ve never been good at this family thing, you know? And, uh, for the past year… you’ve just… ah”

Tim finally turned to face the 20-year-old, urging him to continue with a simple raise of his eyebrow, but Jason just squirmed under the attention.

Laughing awkwardly, the man said, “anyway. It’s been nice. Thanks.”

“We’ve been happy to have you. I’m glad you were here.”

“Yeah,” Jason admitted, “me too.”

_“You’ll have to try harder than that, Drake,” Damian taunted as the teen absolutely wiped the floor with him at Dance Dance Revolution._

_“This is an unfair competition,” Tim whined, still annoyed they were playing this, of all games, at the arcade, “you are a professional dancer.”_

_“I am not,” Damian protested, not even breaking a sweat as he copied the movements on the screen flawlessly._

_“You get paid to dance, that makes you a professional dancer.” Tim jumped to get both the left and right arrows, then twisted in attempt to get the down and left arrows, trying his best to mimic Damian’s fluid movements. “I hate this game.”_

_“Wha, wha, wha,” Damian mocked, as the game declared him winner, “you’re just mad you suck.”_

_“Just for that, you’re grounded.”_

_“Cute,” Damian said, taking his won tickets from the machine, “but looks like I win, again.”_

_“Shut up,” Tim grumbled, “See if I buy you lunch, now. Bouncy balls are overrated, anyway.”_

_“Uh huh,” Damian hummed, “whatever you say.”_

_“Brat,” Tim said, shoving his brother playfully as they walked out of the arcade, “I hate you so much.”_

_“Please,” Damian scoffed, “like that’s even possible.”_

Paul came over just before 11 to see Damian off. The man had been apprehensive about being there for the departure, afraid he would be stepping on Bruce’s toes, but Tim assured him that since Bruce wasn’t saying goodbye to Damian, just to Tim, it wouldn’t be overstepping at all.

Besides. Tim would probably really appreciate the man’s presence once his family had left.

As Paul was chatting with Damian, Tim finally grabbed Bruce and pulled him aside.

They stood there, awkwardly, for several long minutes. A lot had gone down between them in recent weeks, but none of it really mattered. Not when facing what they were about to do. And, for all the planner Tim was, he didn’t have a plan for this. How could he?

“Tim,” Bruce finally said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I’m proud of you.”

Nodding numbly, Tim said, “Thanks. I- uh,” then choked on a nervous laugh.

Instead of saying anything, Bruce just pulled Tim into a hug and held onto him tightly.

Tim buried his face in his father’s chest as he returned the hug, reveling in the man’s presence for the last time. Breathing in his scent, feeling his heartbeat, and just savoring the last bits of comfort Bruce would ever offer him. “Thank you,” he choked out, “for everything, Bruce. Really.”

“Thank you, Tim. You have done so much for this family, I’m-” Bruce paused, apparently unable to continue speaking.

“I love you, too,” Tim said, finally letting go and pulling away, “I have something for you, though.”

Bruce frowned and looked at Tim quizzically, but accepted the flash drive as Tim thrust it at him.

“It’s, uh,” Tim said, suddenly very self-conscious, “Something I’ve been working on since our first year here. For you. Yeah. Look at it in order, when you get home.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, clutching the flash drive tightly in his hands, “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, nodding again, “I’m going to miss you, Dad.”

When Tim broke out into tears again, Bruce pulled him back into a hug, and they stayed like that for another while.

“I don’t think,” Tim sobbed, “I don’t think I’d be where I am today without you, Bruce. Maybe not here at all. You did so much for me. It’s sucked not having you around for guidance, and it’ll continue to suck, but I am _so grateful_ for the time we did have.”

“Take care of yourself, son,” Bruce said, tightening his hold before letting go, “and just remember I’m so proud of you. We all are.”

_“Red Robin,” Damian sung, grinning as he practically skipped along side Tim._

_“Stop,” Tim groaned, trying his best to ignore the brat while he typed out an email on his phone._

_Damian smiled wider and finished with, “Yum,” joyfully continuing down the sidewalk toward their lunch location._

_“I swear to god, Damian,” Tim said, pocketing his phone, “I will never take you to Red Robin ever again if you keep this up.”_

_“That’s a lie,” the brat said, smug as hell, “it’s your favorite restaurant.”_

_“That is irrelevant. I’ll go without you.”_

_“Like you’d ever go anywhere without me,” Damian said sweetly, as he bounced ahead and opened the door for Tim._

_“I don’t even know why you’re my favorite,” Tim said, shaking his head as they got in line to get a table._

_Damian planted himself right next to Tim, then grinned over at him. “I am, and I quote, ‘a pretty awesome little brother.’”_

_“You were cuter when you were ten.”_

_“That suggests I’m still cute, now.”_

_Placing his hand on the kid’s face and pushing it away, Tim laughed, “You’re annoying is what you are.”_

_“I take after you.”_

Tim watched in tears as his dad and brothers said their goodbyes to Bristol. Each one of them took turns holding her and telling her various versions of ‘I’ll miss you.’ They all knew she wouldn’t remember them. All she’d ever have of them were pictures and stories.

But Tim would make sure she grew up with those stories. Even if they couldn’t be here, she deserved to know them.

Bristol, still being so young, picked up easily on the somber atmosphere, but clearly had no idea what was going on. Every time someone hugged her, she patted them on the back and said “I’kay,” likely meaning ‘it’s okay.”

“Bruce,” Tim said, gathering up the bag he’d prepared for the man, “here. It’s WE stuff, from that night. I had it on me.”

“Oh,” the man replied, accepting the bag and attaching it to a piece of luggage he was responsible for bringing through the portal, “Thank. I’ll get it to Lucius.”

Tim nodded and watched as Damian picked up Bristol, giving her a kiss on the forehead and a long hug.

“Be good,” the teen said, swinging the girl a bit as he hugged her, “but not too good, okay? Someone’s gotta keep your dad on his toes.”

Bristol smiled and hugged Damian back, repeating, “i’kay,” to him.

“I love you, little one, don’t forget that.”

“Lole you too,” she said back, giving Damian her own kiss on his cheek, and Tim could see the tears in his eyes as he handed the baby over to Bruce.

_“This is terrifying,” Tim admitted as he stood over his daughter in her incubator._

_Damian, from the other side of the device, said, “She’ll be fine. I told you, research-”_

_“No,” Tim interrupted, “this. Her. I- I’m so lost. What do you do with babies?”_

_Smiling, Damian leaned forward to gently stroke the infant’s cheek. “You’re so lucky,” he whispered to the child, “to have him as your dad.”_

_“Damian,” Tim said, slightly embarrassed. Although he shouldn’t be, since they were alone and the baby had no idea what was going on._

_“Seriously, Tim,” the teen said, standing up again to look at Tim over the incubator, “Don’t be scared. Yeah, this changes everything, but it’s not bad change. You’ll figure it out.”_

_Tim shook his head, placing his finger on the infants tiny little hand. The hand that was barely as big as his fingertip. Who in their right mind would put such a precious life in Tim’s hands?_

_“You’re already a great dad,” Damian said, walking around to wrap an arm around Tim, “just by being here for her. That’s really all kids need.”_

_He could do that. He’d make sure this little girl never knew what it felt like to want for a parent. Never know what it’s like to be lonely. To wonder whether she was loved. Remembered. He’d do anything for this tiny little child, and she wasn’t even a week old yet._

_Damian was right. Her existence changes everything. But it wasn’t bad change._

_“Thanks,” he said, leaning into Damian’s hug._

“Well,” Tim said, after he’d dragged Damian into the teen’s room so they could say goodbye in private, “this is it.”

“Guess so,” Damian responded, nodding absently.

“Um,” Tim stuttered as he dug into his pocket, “I wanted you to have this.” He handed the kid a keychain. _His_ keychain.

Damian accepted the item and inspected it. “A car?” he asked in confusion, eyeing the car key on it.

“Yeah,” Tim said, smiling wryly as he did, “I know I was supposed to drive you home, but I figured you could probably do it. You did ask to drive, right?”

“You’re giving me your stuff in Gotham?” Damian asked, his voice hallow.

“You’re my kid, Damian. Of course I’m giving you my stuff.”

“Wow,” the teen said, clutching the keys in his hand, “okay. Thanks.”

“C’mere,” Tim mumbled, pulling the taller man down into a hug, “it’s been an absolute honor to raise you, kiddo. I’m so insanely proud of the person you’ve become, and I always will be, never forget that.”

“I won’t,” Damian whispered, clearly trying to hold back the tears Tim was allowing to fall freely, “I promise.”

“And don’t let anyone tell you who you should or shouldn’t be. The only person whose opinion matters is you.”

“Yeah,” Damian agreed, “I remember. Thank you, Tim. For everything you’ve done for me.”

“And thank _you,”_ Tim said, squeezing a bit tighter, “for everything you’ve done for me.” This kid had given him a purpose in life. A reason to live. “You’re my favorite.”

Damian laughed and pulled away from the hug. “And you’re my favorite. Always will be.”

_“You know,” Damian said, his hands resting behind his head as he gazed up at the sky above them, “forever is a really long time.”_

_“True,” Tim agreed from where he was similarly lying in the grass, staring at the stars above them._

_“Paul believes that we live forever, once we die,” the kid continued, “It’s kind of a daunting prospect, when you really think about it.”_

_Nodding, Tim said, “Yeah.”_

_“Does anything actually last forever?” he asked, a hint of childlike curiosity in his voice, “I can’t think of a single thing that truly lasts forever. Even the sun has an expiration date.”_

_Tim smiled at himself, for the corny thought that popped in his head as a response. “Love,” he said, grinning some at the way Damian almost groaned, “Love lasts forever.”_

_“I was being serious,” Damian drawled._

_“Who says I wasn’t?”_

Everyone gathered in the living room, each of the departing men grabbing hold of the luggage, and Damian cradling Carrie to his chest.

Bruce nodded toward Paul first, saying, “Take care of my boy for me.”

“I will,” the man promised, clapping a hand on Tim’s shoulder, offering what bit of support it did through a quick squeeze before he let go.

“And take care of yourself,” Bruce continued, facing Tim now, “and that little girl of yours. Kids grow up way too fast.”

“I know,” Tim said, smiling, “I will. And you guys be careful. Don’t be reckless, keep each other in check, okay?”

All four men nodded, and Bruce pulled out his teleporter. “Ready?” he asked, looking around the room.

When no one objected, he began the procedure to start the teleport.

“I love you guys,” Tim said as he watched the man type out the command.

“And we love you, Tim,” Dick said, smiling warmly, “always have.”

The device beeped, and Bruce grasped tightly to his luggage, preparing himself for the teleport.

And Tim looked to Damian, locking eyes with the teenager. They nodded at each other, neither one smiling, as the group of them were engulfed in a bright light.

Tim closed his eyes, feeling more hot tears be pressed out as they ran down his cheeks.

And when he opened his eyes, they were gone.

They were gone, just like that. His little brother was gone. His kid. The person that had taught him what unconditional love meant. Showed him what it meant to be depended on. Who had cheered him on when life got difficult. Who he learned to express himself for. Forced himself to be physically affectionate for.

The one that had taught him how to be loved.

He’d done everything for that kid, and now he was gone.

Was it worth it?

A tiny hand pulled at his jeans, forcing Tim to move his hands from his face and wipe at his eyes so he could see. And when he opened his eyes, he saw the little girl he’d done it for.

Damian was an adult now. He didn’t need Tim the way he had. The way this child did.

Picking Bristol up, Tim wrapped her into a tight hug, not trusting himself to speak without absolutely losing it.

“I lole you,” Bristol said, patting Tim on the back as she rested her head on his shoulder, “i’kay Daddy.”

She was worth it.


	33. Bruce

A small part of Bruce was glad to be home. The cave they’d materialized into was a welcome sight for eyes that had seen nothing but New York City for the past several months, but it was difficult to be glad.

How could he be glad when his son decided to remain separated from him? Forever? How could he be glad that he had to kiss his granddaughter goodbye for the last time? He’d barely even gotten to know her, and now he never would.

He was almost inclined to believe the last several months of, albeit it bittersweet, bliss were just a grief induced dream.

But his mind was never so kind to him.

No, Tim should be here with him. Tim and his wife and daughter. But he wasn’t. He was in a different world, already hours ahead of them.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice carried through the cave as he descended the stairs, “welcome back, sir.”

Bruce grunted as he put his things down and began to make his way over to the computer, but paused when he noticed all his boys were silent. Usually they were much more talkative when greeting Alfred after a mission. Even Alfred was silent.

The old man was standing on the floor of the cave now, staring at Damian with a befuddled expression on his face. The teenager was just beaming at the man, stroking his cat as he did.

“Master Damian?” Alfred finally said, almost aghast in his delivery of the question.

“Hello Pennyworth,” Damian said cheerfully, setting his cat loose so he could greet Alfred properly. Carrie, Bruce thinks is the cat’s name. He really hadn’t paid much attention. Carrie almost never came out if Damian weren’t around to hold her.

Carrie. He was pretty sure there was a condolence card upstairs from a Carrie. Maybe he should pass it on to Damian, if the kid named his cat after her. Maybe Bruce should read it.

“My boy,” Alfred whispered as he accepted the hug Damian had initiated, “I don’t understand.”

“Time was moving differently,” Bruce grumbled, returning his attention to the computer. He needed to write up a report.

“Oh, my,” Alfred said, “how old are you, then?”

“I’m 18,” Damian replied, and Bruce could hear the smile in his voice.

If anything good happened from this, it was that. His boy smiling. Teenage Damian smiled constantly. At appropriate times. And never cruelly. He was so _different_ from the 10-year-old Bruce had seen only a few months prior.

“You look just like your father,” Alfred said, “you grew up well.”

The other two boys greeted Alfred, and the four of them chatted for a minute before Alfred finally asked the question Bruce was sure had been on his mind since the moment he laid eyes on them all.

“Where is Master Tim?”

The cave stayed silent for a second. Then several seconds. The silence stretched for nearly a minute before Jason, shockingly, spoke up.

“He decided he liked it there better and stayed.” And the derisiveness in the young man’s voice echoed what Bruce felt.

Because sure, Tim had explained rather plainly why he was staying. Had got into detail, even, about wanting to keep his daughter safe.

Tim was a good father, and Bruce was proud of that.

But, in the end, Bristol would have been perfectly safe here. She would have had the entirety of the team looking out for her. Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood. Spoiler. Oracle.

Hell, even the Justice League would have looked over her.

She would have been fine. They all would have been, because the entire superhero community would have made sure of it.

“And you let him?” Alfred asked, a little scornfully as his attention shifted to Bruce.

Bruce bristled at the sharp gaze he could feel his former guardian shooting him, and grumbled out in explanation, “He’s stubborn.”

“More than you?” Alfred said dryly, “Or did you not explain to him why he should come back? We all know the boy is prone to insecurity in his place in this family, perhaps if you—.”

“Alfred,” Damian interrupted, drawing the man’s attention and saving Bruce from having to defend himself and his parenting skills, “he’s married now. And has a daughter.”

“Oh my.”

Shocking Alfred was a feat difficult to accomplish, considering the man had raised _Batman,_ and, in turn, the various Robins. But Bruce knew if he turned around, he’d see Alfred in shock.

So he didn’t turn around.

Instead, he tuned out the conversation that sparked up between the boys and their pseudo-grandfather about Tim’s young family in favor of typing up his report. The sooner he got it done, the faster he could get to figuring out what he could have done to prevent all this.

What had he missed in his original investigation that slowed them down so significantly? If he’d just rescued the boys within the first couple days of them being missing, none of this would have happened. None of it. Tim and Damian would both be home, safe and sound, right now.

The sound of that damn dog’s collar jingling interrupted Bruce’s work about fifteen minutes later, when said dog came barreling down the cave steps. He’d apparently caught onto everyone being home and was now coming to greet them all. Bruce first of them all.

Bruce almost completely ignored the dog, but then Damian’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “Titus!”

And the dog paused in his trajectory for Bruce, eyeing Damian curiously. He trotted over and started sniffing at Damian, clearly confused. Because the dog must have recognized Damian, but at the same time, not.

“Hey boy,” Damian said, bending down some to scratch at the dog’s ears, “did you miss me?”

That seemed to set the dog off, because he leapt at Damian, licking his face enthusiastically while crying, and Damian fell backward with the sudden weight of the massive great dane on him.

At first, Bruce was concerned, because that was solid rock the teen had fallen on, but there was no need. Damian caught himself with his forearms, then lay back and wrapped his arms around the dog, laughing.

Laughing so joyously. So carefree and _happy,_ that Bruce wanted to smile. Because, while he’d heard Damian laugh at Tim’s place, it still wasn’t a sound he was used to. Not coming from Damian. Because it was a sound Bruce had _never_ heard from the boy before he got abducted.

And he’d missed it. He’d missed how Damian got from angry and cruel to happy and kind.

Why had that happened? What did he do _wrong?_

\----

Hours passed, and Bruce got so engrossed in reviewing his case notes he paid no mind to when the boys followed Alfred up to the manor. They went to have tea, he was pretty sure, but he didn’t really care. He needed to figure this out. Figure out where, exactly, he’d gone wrong with the case. Maybe there was something he could do. Could have done?

Bruce shifted in his chair, uncomfortable in the seat. There was something in his back pocket poking at him, and it was really starting to grate at him. Finally, he stood up and pulled the object out, just to see the flash drive Tim had handed him.

 _‘It’s something I’ve been working on since our first year here. For you,’_ the boy had said.

Tim had said that like it could possibly make up for not coming back home. How could anything make up for that?

Tossing the device roughly onto the desk, Bruce stood and started pacing.

He should have been more persistent. Shouldn’t have let his emotions go, let Tim appeal to him and convince him to let him stay. He should have just told his son 'absolutely not' and forced him to return.

Maybe he should just go back right then and bring Tim back with him. Tim and Kyla and Bristol.

Looking at the clock, Bruce reasoned that it’d been only about a month in Tim’s world.

A month.

It’d been. An entire month. In Tim’s world. They’d had so much time. The three of them were probably pretty well settled into a routine, at that point, since they had their apartment to themselves. Tim’s birthday had passed, he’d be 24.

He probably went out with his friends. Paul likely took him out for lunch. There might have even been a news article about it. Tim was one of the most accomplished physicists in his universe. Of his time. At the tender age of 24. Or, actually, 26, as far as that world knew.

Tim’s life had moved on. Would continue to move on. It would only take three days for an entire year to pass in Tim’s world. He’d moved on.

Growling, Bruce kicked over the desk chair, causing papers to fly from the desk.

The little flash drive somehow got knocked off in the process, landing on the floor right next to Bruce. Irrationally, he wanted to stomp on it. Take out his anger on the stupid little gift.

But he couldn’t.

Instead, he knelt down and gingerly lifted the device, treating it like the precious thing it was. Because, regardless of what was on it, Tim had made it for him. And Bruce felt akin to parents coveting the artwork brought home by young children. The feeling he’d had the first time Dick brought him home a piece of art he’d made for him, all those years ago.

Bruce stood and righted the desk chair, and took a minute to straighten up his desk before he plugged the device into a USB port and sat to go through it.

He really wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but dozens of word documents was not it. The flashdrive was made up of 37 text files and a folder, which had about 100 gb worth of material in it. Each file started with a date, forcing the group to be put in chronological order, with the very first document, an empty text file, being named ‘ _1 read them in order B Im serious’_

Smiling faintly, Bruce opened the first document, dated to about 11 months after the boys got stranded in their universe, by his quick calculations.

 _“Hey B,”_ The first line read, and Bruce sucked in a breath. Because he finally realized what he had here. What Tim had made him.

_Letters._

Letters from the past 8 years of the boys’ lives. Or, past 7 years, really. Damian was a little over a month short of being there eight whole years, and since the first was from nearly a year into their ‘exile,’ as Tim and Damian both referred to it.

With a deep, steadying breath, Bruce continued on into the letter.

_‘I don’t even know why I’m writing this. But, actually, that’s a lie. I’ve just been having a really hard time, B. My boss caught on and suggested that I write my ‘dead dad’ letters to help me feel better, and since I knew you could actually read them, I thought why not?_

Bruce frowned. Tim had been having a hard time. 17-year-old Tim, who should have still been in Gotham, near enough Bruce that he could reach out. Not that Tim _ever_ reached out when he needed help. Not mentally, at least. Not to Bruce. But Dick hadn’t even been there for the boy, and Bruce couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for that.

_So yeah. I thought you should get to see some of what Damian’s been up to. He’s actually a really cool kid, now that I’ve gotten to know him. I kind of wish I’d tried a little harder, before._

_He’s really coming out of his shell. He went to public school last year and I only got called to the school once for his behavior. You’d be so proud of him.’_

He _would_ be proud of Damian, Bruce thought bitterly. He _was_ proud of the boy, even before. But even more so proud of the man he turned into.

_‘He’s participating in this children's’ theater school thing this summer. I never thought I’d see it, but Damian comes alive when he’s on stage, Bruce. I’ve taken videos of him while there volunteering, you should watch them. He’s like a completely different child, it’s amazing. I just wish he’d be that happy off stage, too. He’s just a little kid. He doesn’t deserve the baggage he carries around._

_Anyway. He’s doing great. I attached a bunch of pictures and videos for you to watch. Wish you were here to see it yourself.’_

Bruce took several minutes scrolling through the dozens of pictures of mainly Damian. The one that caught his eye the most was the one of them at Niagara Falls. It was the same picture they had framed and hanging in their apartment, back in that world. It had been the center of a photo collage of their life in that world. Like it was the most important picture there.

He spent an hour watching a rewatching the dozen short video clips Tim had included of Damian. There was him playing with his cat, as carefree as a child should be. Him practicing a dance with a group of other children, as intent and interested as he’d ever been training as Robin. Him snarking at ‘Drake’ to quit putting a camera in his face, their banter so light an easy it made Bruce’s heart ache.

But Bruce knew his son. He could read that child’s face as well as he could read Alfred’s. And behind the eye rolls, under the slight twitch of his lips, the crinkle of his nose, Bruce could see the sadness.

And he had to turn it off.

Because it wasn’t _right._ He shouldn’t have had to grow up as an orphan.

It’s why Bruce never wanted kids in the first place. He never wanted to orphan them. And yet, here was cruel fate, giving him the joys of fatherhood, just to rip the kids away from him while simultaneously making them orphans.

It wasn’t right.

\----

Bruce didn’t look at another letter.

As the hours passed and night turned into morning, Bruce found himself engrossed in his research on the multiverse. He’d done a ton of studying on it while the boys were still stranded, but now he was interested in learning why time moved differently in some universes.

How did that work? Weren’t parallel universes just that? Parallel?

He’d been a hundred pages into a book theorizing about how time worked in other dimensions when a thought struck him.

The gun.

Cyborg had said it only teleported one place. But it had a dozen buttons on it. Why have all the buttons, if it didn’t teleport anywhere else?

“Hey Dad,” Damian interrupted 20 minutes later, right in the middle of another scan of the gun, “What’re you doing?”

Bruce lifted his head slightly to acknowledge Damian’s presence, then turned back to his work. Belatedly, he answered, “Research,” realizing he shouldn’t be ignoring Damian like that. Intentionally or not.

“Did you sleep at all?” Damian asked, and Bruce wanted to laugh at the scorn in the boy’s tone.

“What was it you always said?” Bruce asked, half amused, “Sleep is for the weak?”

That caused Damian to grin widely as he took a seat on the desk next to Bruce, “I thought you didn’t take the advice of 10-year-olds, Father.”

“Hrn,” he grunted in amusement as he started reading the results from his test. He’d managed to pull the code from the device, and was finally able to start sifting through it to figure out what each button actually did.

He could probably just call Cyborg and do this much quicker, but he was managing on his own.

“So what are you doing with that?” Damian asked, pulling his legs up on the desk into a criss-cross so he could face the screen, “Why are you fixating on this?”

Bruce stiffened for a moment, then forced himself to relax. He actually didn’t need to explain himself to his son. It wasn’t really fixating, anyway, as much as it was tying up the loose ends of the case. That’s it. He continued looking through the code and found exactly what he was hoping to find.

“Fine,” Damian huffed, hopping down off the desk, “but Alfred said if you don’t come upstairs for breakfast he’ll lockdown the cave.”

That caused Bruce to pause for a moment, just as he was lifting the piece of code he needed to examine more closely. Because he knew Alfred was not bluffing. And dealing with the cave in lockdown mode was not, at all, worth it.

So, regrettably, Bruce got up and followed his youngest up to the Manor, where he found Jason and Dick sitting at the table. Having breakfast with his sons wasn’t that bad, anyway.

\----

It wasn’t until late that afternoon did Bruce escape back down to the cave again. Once he was upstairs, he got roped into taking a nap, then spending time with the older two boys before they both went on their way.

And Bruce was relieved to get back to work. He wanted to dissect that code he’d pulled and make sure it meant what he thought it meant.

But then the flash drive caught his attention again, and before he registered what he was doing, Bruce was opening the next letter on the disk, which was dated two months later.

 _‘I don’t know what to do, Bruce,’_ the letter started, and Bruce heaved a deep breath. He couldn’t do this. Read these. He- This shouldn’t have happened.

_‘Damian is sick this week. He actually admitted to it, you know? But it made me realize just how deep his wounds are. On top of everything, he has trust issues. He’s afraid to admit weaknesses. As if being less than perfect would mean I’d possibly stop caring about him. And, I guess I knew all this. He’s had a couple panic attacks over the past year, over feeling safe. What kind of kid freaks out when he feels safe, Bruce?’_

Frowning, Bruce scrolled down and looked at the pictures Tim had added. A couple seemed out of place with the mood of the letter, they were just of Damian, clearly only pretending to be annoyed at Tim’s attention. One appeared to be of his first day of school. The last picture was of Damian asleep on the couch, Tim’s hand resting on the side of his head.

‘ _What do I do?’_ the letter finished, after all the photos, ‘ _I don’t know what I’m doing.’_

“Oh Tim,” Bruce mumbled, scrolling back up to look at the picture of Damian sleeping. If only Tim had taken a picture where both of them could be seen. Two letters, and so far, they were just about Damian and how Damian was coping. Two letters and only one picture of Tim.

Tim did realize Bruce cared about him and his life, too, right?

He read the next few letters, and each one showed Tim settling in more in that world. He spoke briefly about starting college and making a couple friends, but went on for paragraphs about Damian starting middle school and making friends, himself. He gushed about ‘the kid,’ as he so often referred to Damian. Bragged about his accomplishments, about paintings he’d made, performances he’d done. The further into the 37 letters Bruce got, the more ‘proud parent’ vibes he was picking up.

‘ _He laughed, Bruce,’_ one letter said, ‘ _today at dinner. I read him a really lame joke I found online, and he choked on his milk he laughed so hard. Wish I’d caught it on camera.’_

Even with as up as things were seeming for the boys, around the 4 year mark, Tim’s letter made Bruce close the files. Because the letter was about Damian starting high school.

And _obviously,_ he knew Damian had started high school, since he’d watch his son’s graduation, but it was still difficult to read. Especially when the letter ended with, ‘ _he really misses you, Bruce. I really miss you, too.’_

He had to fix this. Those boys shouldn’t have had to grow up on their own. They should still be here, in Gotham, as 10 and 16.

And if Bruce were right, if his reading of the code was right, he _could_ fix it. Because the gun could teleport to any point in time in that universe. He just needed to test it and then figure out how to teleport back to Gotham at the right time.

\----

“Dad,” Damian hollered down the stairs, then quickly corrected, “Father.”

“You can call me ‘Dad,’” Bruce sighed, because it was at least the 5th time he’d told Damian he didn’t need to be correcting himself to ‘Father’ all the time. While it was still a little weird to have a kid call him anything other than ‘Bruce’ or ‘B,’ he could admit that he liked hearing it. Maybe not aloud, but he’d admit it to himself. It _was_ nice.

“Yeah,” Damian said, waving his hand in dismissal, “I know. What are you doing? Aren’t you going on patrol?”

Bruce looked up from where he was about to shoot the portal gun and leveled Damian a flat look. “Why? You aren’t going to sneak out, are you? Because you need training before you go back out there.”

“I know,” Damian exasperated, “I was just bored. Dick and Jay left hours ago. Alfred’s busy,” then Damian paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at Bruce sheepishly, “I guess I’m not used to having free time and no one around. I can’t even text any friends…”

“We’ll get you a new phone in the morning,” Bruce promised, turning back to his gun. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary, though.

“That’d be cool. At least then I could text Jay. And Dick.”

Bruce frowned at Damian’s tone. At how it seemed like that only fixed half the problem. “And I’ll get working on the paperwork to make your biological age your legal one. Maybe you can start college in the spring.”

“How are we going to do that?” Damian asked, leaning against the table Bruce was working at, “Are we just going to tell the truth? It’s not like it dealt with our masked selves. And the Justice League getting involved makes perfect sense since it _was_ a case of kidnapping across universes.”

“Seems like the easiest route,” Bruce said, pulling out a batarang to test the weapon on. He’d set it to what he thought was about three months after the boys arrived in that universe. He was going to monitor the signature of the teleport to try and confirm whether it was, indeed, sending things across time and space.

“Huh,” Damian said, snatching the batarang off the table, “this has a scratch in the same spot as mine. Kinda funny, wonder what causes it.”

“What do you mean, yours?” Bruce asked, suddenly intrigued.

“Tim and I searched the cave a few years ago and found some stuff, including a batarang,” Damian explained, inspecting the weapon a bit closer, obviously reading the serial number hidden inside one of the curves, “This _is_ my batarang. I thought I left it with Tim.”

Bruce took the weapon from his son’s hands and placed it back on the table, then aimed the portal gun at it, “I guess you just answered the question this experiment posed,” he said, pulling the trigger, causing the object to disappear.

And it took Damian a minute, but then his eyes widened. “Are you saying… you can send things back in time?”

“It would appear so,” Bruce confirmed, reviewing the signature on the computer. It matched perfectly with what sending an object back several years in that universe should look like.

“That’s…” Damian said, clearly working through all the implications, “wow. That’s a lot of power in our hands. With just one little letter, we could…”

And Bruce didn’t miss the way Damian spun to face him, narrowing his eyes. “Father. What are you planning to do with this information?”

“It’s just research,” Bruce said, trying to end the discussion. Because he didn’t really want to know whether Damian would approve of the plan.

“You can’t change the past,” Damian insisted, demanding Bruce look back at him with his tone and posture, “it’s not a good idea for so many reasons. Haven’t you ever watched movies?”

“Movies are just fiction,” Bruce said, turning back to the computer, “they are not reality.”

“And in that world, their fiction is our reality, so dismissing anything as merely fiction is narrow minded. Take a lesson from science fiction and don’t try to meddle with the past.”

“Damian,” Bruce snapped, “you boys shouldn’t have had to grow up alone, stranded in another universe. You should be _here,_ right now.”

“I’m here right now,” Damian shouted, “what’s wrong with me how I am?”

There was nothing wrong with Damian. Bruce couldn’t think of a single thing he didn’t like about the teenager that stood beside him. But that teenager should have grown in up Gotham. Surrounded by his family. Not alone in another universe.

Damian let out a huff of breath, blowing his bangs out of his face. “Don’t do this to Tim.”

Bruce slammed his fist down on the table and snapped, “I’m not doing anything _to_ either of you. It’s _for_ you.”

“You’re killing his daughter is what you’re doing,” Damian shouted back, putting just as much anger in his voice as Bruce had, “Going back in time to ‘save’ us from the past eight years is erasing everything we accomplished. Destroying all the good memories we built up. And it’s killing his happiness.”

“He can be happy here,” Bruce said, a touch quieter this time, “he can get married here. Have a daughter, here.”

“This is so selfish of you,” Damian snapped back, “The fact of the matter is Tim _wasn’t_ happy here. He _is_ happy there. If you take that away from him, if you take Bristol and Kyla away from him, I will never forgive you.”

“You won’t even remember,” Bruce grumbled, clicking a tad too forcefully on his mouse as he switched to his research. Now that he knew how it worked, he just needed to figure out how to get back to Gotham at the right time.

“But you will,” Damian said, with a touch of finality as he stormed back to the Manor.

\----

Bruce spent the next day working through the math required for programming their teleporting watches to move through time as well as space. He was finding it remarkably easy, compared to how difficult he thought it would be. With the gun’s coding dissected, he was able to figure out exactly what parts of the programming dealt with the timeline and what parts dealt with the universe, and had made significant progress on updating the watches.

He also had received a pretty massive silent treatment from Damian. But the boy had said his piece, so Bruce wasn’t too concerned. It would all be fine.

His attention was drawn back to the flashdrive while a particularly complex calculation was running. It would take about another hour to complete, so he had some time to waste. Honestly, he should spend it napping, or maybe taking a shower, but that damn flashdrive.

With a sigh, he opened the next letter from Tim, dated to sometime in early November, five years into the boys’ exile.

 _‘I fucked up, Bruce,’_ the first line read, and Bruce looked back at the date in the document’s title. He knew exactly where this was going.

 _‘I don’t know what I was thinking,’_ it continued, _‘actually, I do know what I was thinking and now I’m so annoyed with myself. Kyla, my girlfriend, I think I’ve mentioned her, is pregnant. And it’s mine.’_

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment before he read the last line, because he’d already seen what it was. He just didn’t want to actually read it.

‘ _I really need you, Dad.’_

Bruce could do that. He could be there. Hell, here very soon, Bruce could be at any point in Tim’s life. Pick any one letter and appear there. Be there for his boys, right when they needed him most.

And maybe if he picked right after Bristol was created, maybe then it could be a win for everyone. Would Tim make the same decision without the two years of fatherhood? Probably not, right? And maybe with them both here in Gotham, Bristol’s birth could have been postponed until later, preventing a lot of heartache for everyone. Bruce would hire the best doctors to make sure of it.

But then he’d just be ripping a daughter from her mother, by having them both move to Gotham. He wouldn’t do that to either of them, no matter how much he actually did like Kyla.

No. Retrieving the boys as close to the moment they got stranded as possible would be the best course of action.

The familiar sound of Red Hood’s motorcycle caused Bruce to click quickly out of the flashdrive letters. He wasn’t ready to show anyone any of it. If he ever did. All of it would be irrelevant very soon, anyway.

“Hey Asshole,” Jason greeted after parking his bike, “Damian told me what you’re up to.”

Right. Of course he did. But _how?_ He hadn’t even fixed the boy’s phone yet. “Hrn,” he just said in response, flipping his screen back to see how his calculation was running.

“Yeah, cool. So what’s your reasoning?” Jason asked, taking his helmet off and leaning over the back of Bruce’s chair, staring at the screen, “Damian said you’re a selfish ass, and don’t get me wrong, I totally agree, but you’re probably justifying it some other way, am I right?”

With a sigh, Bruce rubbed at his face. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”

“Actually, you do,” Jason said, knocking the chair’s back as he stood and moved to lean against the desk, “Damian was nice enough to not rat you out to Alfred. But if you don’t convince me you’re right, I totally will.”

Alfred would probably put a stop to it, Bruce thought. He’d take Damian’s side about not meddling with the past and make sure Bruce didn’t follow through.

“They grew up as orphans,” he said, “they didn’t have to. They shouldn’t have been alone.”

Jason sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before finally responding, in a much more gentle tone than Bruce had ever expected Jason to aim at him, “Bruce, they weren’t alone. They had each other and the friends they made.”

“They shouldn’t have needed to rely on each other,” Bruce said, “there is no reason why Damian had to grow up as an orphan, and why Tim had to raise him.”

“And Damian shouldn’t have been raised an assassin. Tim’s parents shouldn’t have been total shits to him. Dick’s parents shouldn’t have fallen to their deaths. _Your_ parents shouldn’t have gotten shot in a fucking alley. I shouldn’t have died at fucking fifteen years old. Bruce, lots of stuff _shouldn’t_ happen, but it does.”

“But we can fix this,” Bruce argued, feeling the rage come to the surface at being reminded of traumas each of them had been through.

Jason smiled sadly at Bruce and said, “It’s not our place to go meddling with the past.”

“It’s not the past,” Bruce snapped, “Damian Wayne is currently 10-years-old. Timothy Drake-Wayne is 16. This should be their present.”

“Like I said, lots of stuff shouldn’t happen, but it does. We just need to accept it and move on.”

\----

Jason went up to the manor not long after his exchange with Bruce. It was a relief, because Bruce wanted to keep working. But their words kept nagging at him.

And Jason. _Jason._ How on earth had Jason changed so much from the impulsive kid who shot himself with a teleporter ray to this level-headed adult? Bruce knew he’d always been smart, always been able to see the logic in things. He was still _him,_ but he was so much more mature, now. Less angry.

How did that happen? In just a year?

Navigating back to the letters, Bruce decided to finish reading the rest of them. He was only half way through them, strangely, but Bruce chalked that up to updates about Bristol. They seemed to increase in frequency once the baby had been born.

He was glad Tim had started including himself in his updates. It took him about a year to really adapt to being married and having a child, it seemed. He spoke often about fighting with his wife, admitting that sometimes he felt himself start to lose his temper and he’d have to walk away to prevent himself from yelling at Kyla. He was lost. He was scared. He was determined to make it all work out.

Tim gushed about his daughter. Even with all the medical complications her first year of life brought, Tim had nothing but positive things to say about the little girl. The letters were accompanied by dozens of pictures each, and finally Tim was included in a lot of them.

And it just reminded him of the man Tim had become. He was such a _good_ man. Not that Tim wasn’t a good kid, because he was. That was something Bruce had always admired about the boy, but Tim ‘Wagner’ had really taken everything life threw at him and made it work for him. Came out better, because of it.

Would Tim be the same man if he hadn’t been sent to that universe? Would he have flourished so well under the stress of this world?

Bruce wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure if Damian would have grown up as well as he did. Tim was a much better man than he was, it’s very likely that Damian would have turned down a darker path without the guidance of Tim.

The letters just got happier and happier the later they got, and Bruce started to feel sick. Several months after the arrival of Jason in that world, Tim mentioned that his life was perfect, and Bruce had to close them all down. He only had two letters left, but he couldn’t deal with them.

Besides, his calculations had completed, and all Bruce had left to do was enter the information into the watches and he’d be in the testing stages of production. He was within a day, likely, of having them complete.

But could he do that to Tim? Could he take the happiness he’d found? Was it right to do that? Even if it was saving him from all the pain he went through to get there?

\----

“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred said dryly when Bruce entered the kitchen, “it is good to see you above ground for once.”

“What’s for dinner,” Bruce asked, deciding to ignore Alfred’s tone and the glares all three of his boys were leveling him. Because apparently Dick had been called back, too. And he was sitting at the counter with both Jason and Damian.

“Mushroom and farro soup,” Alfred responded, his attention turned completely to the pot he was stirring, “it will be done shortly. Perhaps you and the young masters can set the table.”

Nodding, Bruce went to retrieve glasses while the boys all sprang to action, collecting up the various items they’d need to eat dinner. No one said anything until they were in the dining room, out of earshot of Alfred.

“So,” Dick began, before any of them had finished setting out their chosen objects, “Dami tells me you want to kill Bristol.”

“I do not want to kill my granddaughter,” Bruce said tiredly, because that was absolutely not what he wanted to do. It wouldn’t be killing her, anyway. If she didn’t even exist, she wasn’t there to kill. It wasn’t _killing._

“Bruce, there are so many reasons this is a stupid idea,” Dick said, setting down the last plate in his hands.

“There are also a number of reasons why it’s a good idea,” Bruce countered as he took his spot at the head of the table.

Damian scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but Dick cut him off, “I get it Bruce, I do. But look at it this way: What if someone had decided you being raised by Alfred was bad and went back in time to move you somewhere else?”

How was that even relevant? Bruce hadn’t had living relatives. It was not the same.

“Or what about me? What if someone decided I shouldn’t have been raised by you and went back in time to keep you from taking me in?”

“Dick, it’s not the same,” he said, because Tim and Damian were not orphans, they both had a living father. They both had Bruce. There was no _reason-_

“It kind of is, Bruce,” Dick asserted, “Damian was raised by Tim.”

“And he did a fucking good job,” Jason said, finishing setting the spoons out.

Damian smiled slightly at the comment, but remained otherwise silent as he set bowls out on everyone’s plate. But Bruce kept his eyes on his youngest, regardless.

“I would have loved to continue living with my parents for the rest of my childhood,” Dick continued, “but I wouldn’t trade you for them.”

“Dick,” Bruce tried, but was interrupted. Again.

“Bruce,” Dick said, “We all saw the bond between Tim and Damian. Is that something you really want to destroy? Because we both know that would not have formed had this not happened.”

“I want to believe we would have become civil as I grew older,” Damian said, his voice quiet, “but I can’t see a possible reason why we would have ever grown so close. He didn’t even live here.”

All Bruce could do was rub his face in exasperation as Alfred entered the dining room and began ladling out soup to everyone.

“I do hope,” Alfred said as he dished out Bruce’s soup, “that you are listening to your sons, Master Bruce.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Alfred, “but I had already decided not to go through with the plan before I came upstairs.”

All four men visibly relaxed at the words, and now Bruce really wanted to roll his eyes. “I was reading Tim’s letters,” he explained, feeling the childish urge to tell them it wasn’t _them_ who convinced him, “and he described his life as ‘perfect.’”

And in the end, Bruce couldn’t take that from him. What kind of father would he be if he did?

Because the boys were right. He was being selfish.

“Did you figure out how to do it, though?” Damian asked between spoonfuls of soup.

At that, Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Have you changed your stance?”

“No, but— Does teleporting back and forth between the worlds do any damage?” Damian asked, perking up a bit as he spoke, “To the travelers or the universes?”

“As far as we’ve seen, no,” Bruce said slowly, curious about the sudden excitement from his youngest.

“So, then, all we have to do is sync the timelines and we can visit,” Damian nearly exclaimed, “Whenever we want. And it won’t hurt anything or anyone. We can see them whenever and they can come visit us.”

The expression on Bruce’s face smoothed as realization dawned. Why hadn’t he thought of that? It was so obvious. They _could_ set up a system for visiting. Program the watches to keep track of time and date, sync the calendars, and just travel through time every time. Treat it like going across town.

It didn’t matter if time was moving differently if they had the technology to ignore time.

“You’re right,” Bruce said, just before he shoved one last bite of food into his mouth, “That’s genius, son.”

“Dad,” Damian called after him as Bruce rushed to the cave. He wanted to get working on it, now. “I want to help.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, motioning for Damian to follow, “you have experience with portals, anyway.”

\----

It took a week, but finally they had a working prototype. They ended up making an entirely new device, one that looked exactly like a standard watch so that it could always be worn. When the dials on either side of the face were held down for 5 seconds, the watch began the process of teleportation.

Because it was a watch, already, it wasn’t difficult to program it to keep track of time and date for the wearer, that way they would never accidentally travel too far forward or back. Never run into duplicates of themselves or mess up the time-stream because of it.

Activating the teleport was really as simple as pressing the buttons, because the watch knew which universe it was in, simply because there were only two it could teleport to, and it keeping track of the time meant it filled in that data as well.

It was perfect. All they had to do was present Tim with one. Kyla, too, they’d decided. But because it was November in their world and July when they’d left Tim, they decided to wait until July 2nd to visit Tim for the first time. That way the dates matched up for the watches to work, and it made life easier when planning holidays.

As the months passed, Bruce found himself often looking back through Tim’s letters. Every time he read them, he picked up on a different thing. Saw something new. When he was looking for it, he could see the gentle transition to happy both boys made.

He was still sad he hadn’t been there for those eight years, but he was immensely proud of how much they made of their new lives. How well they rolled with the punches and worked it out.

‘ _It’s amazing,’_ Tim had said, in his final letter, _‘how something so terrible could lead to so much happiness.’_

And Bruce could see it. While them being kidnapped and stranded was an awful experience for both of them, a terrible crime committed against them, it had led to immense joy in their lives. It might have been a long, hard road, but they came out better, in the end.

He might still miss his two youngest boys, but he was looking forward to watching his granddaughter grow up.


	34. Epilogue

Tim tried to help Bristol finish picking out her outfit for Thanksgiving dinner. The seven-year-old was very particular about her clothing choices. Her dress had to be _just right_ and the shoes had to match, at least in her mind, the dress perfectly. It was actually a huge hassle, considering the girl had an entire closet full of dresses.

“But if I wore this bow,” she said, running to her dresser to pull out the bow she was talking about, “it would make this dress and these shoes match. See, Daddy?”

“Yep, yeah,” Tim said from where he was sitting on the edge of his daughter’s bed, resisting the urge to lie back and fall asleep, “that looks pretty, sweetheart.”

“But Papa hasn’t seen my new flower dress!” she shrieked, pulling out a different dress from the closet.

Tim gave in and lay back on the bed, rubbing at his face. The room had really changed over the years. When it belonged to Damian, it had been much more relaxing, to be honest, with white painted walls. All the color in the room had come from the furniture and simple decorations. Now it was terribly decorated, all at the whim of a then-four-year-old. Pink walls with a massive mix of princess and superhero decor. Toys everywhere. Doll house and race car track taking up the majority of the floor space. A gaudy flower rug in bright purple. And a black Batman bed set.

Even if it were awful, Tim wouldn’t change it. Because it was so his daughter.

“You don’t even have to wear a dress, princess,” Tim pointed out, hoping to make the choice a bit easier, “You can just wear a sweater and jeans.”

“Daddy,” Bristol said patiently in her you’re-an-idiot-but-I-love-you voice, “why don’t you go help Drake pack.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Tim asked sweetly.

The little girl just smiled wide and said, “Yes.”

“Okay,” Tim relented, hopping up to leave, “but you have ten minutes to choose. If you don’t, Mama will come pick something out for you and you aren’t allowed to whine about it.”

Next door, in his son’s room, Tim found his wife zipping up the boy’s backpack. “All good?” Tim asked from the doorway.

“Yep,” she replied, shutting the closet door and turning off the light on her way out, “he’s in our bedroom watching television. He didn’t care what I picked for him.”

“Why can’t both our children be as easy as him,” Tim said as he gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek before she passed.

“Does she need a fire lit under her?” Kyla asked, tossing the backpack with theirs in the living room.

“I gave her ten more minutes.”

“She will take every last second of those ten minutes,” Kyla laughed.

“Hey,” Tim said, pulling his wife in, “I love you.”

“Oh yeah?” she questioned.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling.

After a moment, Kyla pulled away and said, “So, are we telling them about number three yet?”

“I don’t see why not,” Tim replied, holding her against him tightly as he just relished in the quiet moment. The next few days were going to be hectic and crazy. He loved his family, he really did, but they were loud. And the house was chaotic with all 13+ of them there. And that wasn’t even counting any friends, should any attend. Sometimes the Kents or Gordons joined them.

Kyla nodded against him and said, “I wonder how they’ll react.”

“Dick will accuse us of trying to outdo him and Kori,” Tim said, grinning.

“They only have one, we’re already beating them.”

Tim just shrugged and ran his hand up and down her arm. He really needed to go check on Drake. Knowing him, the boy was probably already asleep again. It was difficult to keep him awake before 9am. Even his daycare commented that he usually napped the first hour or so of the day.

He was so different from Bristol, who was still an early riser.

“Mama,” Bristol shouted, ending their peaceful moment, “Mama I need you!”

“Coming,” Kyla said, giving Tim one last kiss before disappearing into the girls room.

In his bedroom, Tim found exactly what he was expecting to find. A sleeping three-year-old while _Paw Patrol_ played on the television.

“Hey buddy,” he said, pulling the child closer to the edge of the bed the blanket he’d burritoed himself in, “it’s time to be awake.”

“No,” Drake whined, burying his face under the blanket, “go away.”

“Come on now, son,” Tim said, unwrapping the boy, “you aren’t allowed to be a teenager until you’re 13.”

When Drake didn’t respond except to flip onto his stomach, so his face wasn’t visible, Tim sat down and pulled the child into his lap. “Don’t you want to go see Papa?”

Instead of answer, Drake just held his arms up in a gesture that asked ‘can’t you just carry me?’

“Okay, kiddo,” he acquiesced, hoisting the child up as he stood, “just this once.”

At that, Drake snuggled down into his shoulder and fell right back into his deep sleep.

“Ready?” Kyla asked, standing next to a very dressed up Bristol.

Tim knew better than to comment on how Bristol did not need to be wearing her nice dress yet, since it wasn’t dinner time. At least he could trust the girl not to ruin her clothes at breakfast, unlike Drake.

“As ever,” Tim replied, grabbing his luggage as best he could with Drake in his arms, “Bri can you activate my watch for me? Then let go of me and hold onto Mama.”

“Got it, Dad,” she said, smiling at being asked to help with something.

He should be used to the teleportation by now. He’d done it hundreds of times. He and Damian saw each other at least once a week, usually two or three times.

Damian came over for Sunday dinner every week, sometimes bringing various members of the family with him. Cass, a new girl Bruce had adopted about a year after Damian went back home, came over most often. She and Bristol got along great.

Then Tim would bring the kids to see Alfred whenever possible, which usually ended up being a couple times a month. Kyla was usually able to take them once or twice a month, as well.

In the end, it actually meant he saw quite a bit of his family.

Which meant, when they materialized in the cave, they were met with a simple, “Ah, you’re early.”

“Good to see you, too, Bruce,” Tim said dryly, readjusting Drake in his arms so he could drag his bag with him upstairs. When Bruce stood and walked over toward them, Tim could see the bags under his eyes. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I can take him,” Bruce said, instead of answering, “if it’ll make it easier for you.”

“Funny how you offered to take the sleeping kid instead of the bag,” Tim said, pushing the shoulder Drake was sleeping on toward Bruce, allowing him to take the boy.

At that, Bruce offered a ghost of a smile as he settled Drake into his arms, “It’s good to see you guys.”

“Go take a nap, Bruce,” Tim said, just as Kyla and Bristol materialized behind him.

“Papa,” Bristol squealed, leaping over to envelop Bruce in a massive hug, “We’re going to stay over! Like a sleepover!”

“I know,” Bruce replied, bending down to hug her back the best he could, “everyone is upstairs, I bet they’d be very happy to see you.”

“Uncle Damian,” Bristol shouted, vaulting for the elevator, her backpack bouncing as she ran.

“She has a lot of energy,” Bruce observed as they all walked to follow Bristol upstairs.

“Tell me about it,” Kyla said, grabbing Tim’s hand as they walked, “I’m not even as bad as her.”

Tim snorted, earning himself a smack on the shoulder, before he said, “Seriously, B. Go take a nap.”

“Hrn,” he grunted, “how much longer will he sleep?”

“Two hours?” Tim offered, “Maybe more, maybe less.”

“Guess I’ll get up when he does.”

 

As the morning wore on, more of the family kept arriving. Cass, Duke, and Damian were the only three who still lived with Bruce. Duke being the only minor left out of the children. Everyone kept expecting Bruce to pick up more, younger kids, but so far he’d only taken in Cass and Duke.

It was only a matter of time, though. They were sure. There was a bet going, actually.

Dick and Kori came late morning with their daughter, Mar’i, who was about Drake’s age, and Jason arrived just a few minutes after, bringing Roy and his young daughter, Lian, along with him.

And the manor devolved into chaos. Screaming children running around, trying to be spoken over by half a dozen different conversations between the various adults and teenagers.

Even though the manor was huge, they all chose the same, large, living room to be in. Because that’s what Thanksgiving was about. Family.

Looking around, Tim was incredibly thankful for every person in that room.

He had everything in life he’d ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. It's over. 
> 
> THANK YOU so, so much for all the encouragement y’all have provided throughout this process. This is the biggest writing project I’ve ever undertaken and I can’t believe I finished it. I’m so bad about not finishing projects, and I 100% attribute it to you guys for your comments and every single one of you who gave me kudos or subscribed or talked to me on tumblr. Y’all are seriously the best. Thanks for coming along with me on this adventure. <3
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)!


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